THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH 


All  Dramatic  Rights  Reserved 


THE  GOOD  RED  EARTH 


BY 


EDEN    PHILLPOTTS 

Author  of  "  Lying  Prophets,"  "  Children  of  the  Mist  " 
"  Sons  of  the  Morning,"  etc. 


NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &   CO. 

1901 


Copyright,    1901, 
By    EDEN    PHILLPOTTS. 


Norinoot)  19rrD8 

J.  8.  Cuihing  k  Co.  -  Uerwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mau.  U.S.A. 


UMVERSITY  OF  CALIF 
SANTA  BARBARA 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. 

Jackdaws  and  Heroes  . 

II. 

A  Trust  .          .          .          . 

III. 

Funeral  Baked  Meats  . 

IV. 

The  Sheraton  Cabinet 

V. 

An  Affair  of  the  Conscience 

VI. 

An  Affair  of  the  Heart 

VII. 

Old  Thomasin  passes . 

VIII. 

Lot  No.  39       . 

IX. 

The  Power  of  Words 

X. 

A  Costly  Flame 

XI. 

Glory  in  the  Orchards 

XII. 

The  Mother  of  the  Apples 

XIII. 

A  Great  Discovery 

XIV. 

The  Translation  of  Sibella 

XV. 

For  Dick 

XVI. 

In  Ralegh's  Tower     . 

XVII. 

A  Prophecy 

XVIII. 

Love  and  Ashes 

XIX. 

The  Wisdom  of  Mr.  Newte 

XX. 

Another  Tree  planted 

Page 
I 

9 
28 

45 

59 

74 

95 

115 

140 

158 

172 

188 

199 

2 14 

230 

247 
260 
278 
294 
312 


The   Good    Red    Earth. 

CHAPTER    I. 

JACKDAWS    AND    HEROES. 

SHINING  upon  the  lap  of  Spring  like  a 
grey  pearl,  there  lies  an  ancient  and  forti- 
fied manor  house  amid  red  Devon  fallows, 
green  hills,  and  orchard  lands  in  full  splendour  of 
June.  The  hamlet  of  Lower  Marldon  straggles 
through  a  fertile  valley  of  the  west  country  hard 
by  the  sea  ;  and  at  the  confines  of  this  village, 
where  a  sheaf  of  fir  trees  rises  and  tall  elms 
ascend  about  the  way,  shall  be  found  Compton 
Castle,  whose  time-stained  face  and  crown  of  ivy 
appear  above  an  old-world  garden  spread  with 
flowers.  Trim  plots  of  familiar  things  lie  smiling 
beneath  the  front  of  the  ruin,  and  fragile  blue 
and  purple,  crimson  and  gold,  of  immortal  blos- 
soms yearly  renew  their  glory  before  this  perish- 

I 


2  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

ing  abode  of  former  greatness.  Weather-worn 
and  rich  in  lichen-livery  of  years,  the  notable  ruin 
stands.  Above  its  windows  sinister  bartizans 
most  grimly  frown  ;  tremendous  walls,  lofty  as  a 
prison's,  ascend  about  the  rear  quarters  of  the 
castle  ;  and  not  a  few  of  its  sombre  windows  and 
embattled  towers  remain  intact  to  tell  of  former 
strength. 

Where  now  jackdaws  chiefly  dwell  and  their 
harmonies  echo,  aforetime  flourished  the  famous 
family  of  Gilbert;  and  for  the  Manor  itself, 
before  this  stronghold  arose  upon  it  during  the 
fifteenth  century,  it  suffices  to  note  that  one 
Osolf  held  these  happy  valleys  in  the  Confessor's 
time,  that  at  Domesday  Survey  they  pertained  to 
Judhel  of  Totnes,  and  that  during  the  reign 
of  Henry  II.  the  family  of  Maurice  de  Pola 
possessed  them.  Alice  de  Pola  brought  the 
Manor  to  the  Comptons;  and  to  the  illustrious 
Gilberts  it  accrued  in  like  fashion,  for  Joan 
Compton  conveyed  Compton  Pole,  as  it  was 
then  called,  to  Jeffrey  Gilbert  for  her  partage  in 
the  second  Edward's  reign.  Of  their  posterity  are 
first  remembered  and  evermore  revered  the  sons 


JACKDAWS   AND    HEROES.  3 

of  Otho  Gilbert,  whose  lady,  a  maiden  of  the 
Champernowne  family,  bore  not  only  Humphrey, 
the  adventurer  who  discovered  Gilbert's  Straits 
and  established  the  earliest  British  settlement  of 
Newfoundland,  but  also  his  more  famous  uterine 
brother,  Walter  Ralegh.  For  upon  that  Otho 
Gilbert's  passing,  his  dame  mated  with  Walter 
Ralegh  of  Fardel,  and  by  him  produced  a  prod- 
igy :  the  poet,  statesman,  soldier,  courtier,  ex- 
plorer, and  first  jewel  of  Elizabeth's  Court.  A 
noble  matron  truly  must  have  been  that  Kathe- 
rine,  mother  of  two  such  heroes  ;  and  less  only 
in  honour  to  these  knights  were  Sir  Humphrey's 
brothers.  Of  these.  Sir  John,  his  senior,  rendered 
himself  acceptable  to  God  and  man  by  his 
manifold  charities,  his  virtue  and  his  activity 
in  public  concerns ;  while  Adrian  Gilbert  is 
declared  to  have  been  a  gentleman  very  eminent 
for  his  skill  in  mines  and  other  engineering 
projects. 

Here,  within  these  walls,  a  tradition,  more 
credible  than  most,  affirms  that  the  half-brothers. 
Sir  Humphrev  and  Sir  Walter,  not  seldom  met ; 
that    Ralegh    smoked    his  first  pipe  on    English 


4  THE    GOOD    RKD    EARTH. 

soil  (though  ancient  habitations  not  a  few  claim 
that  event) ;  that  the  great  men  discussed  their 
far-reaching  plans  together,  while  both  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  royal  favour  and  universal  acclaim. 
Yet,  at  the  end  of  their  triumphs,  stealing  grey 
along  the  avenue  of  years,  Death,  hideous  in 
one  case,  violent  in  both,  confronted  each  with 
his  sudden  dart. 

Ancient  chroniclers  declare  how,  when  the  little 
Squirrel^  a  vessel  of  but  ten  tons  burthen,  was 
bearing  Sir  Humphrey  upon  his  last  voyage 
from  Newfoundland,  there  took  shape  before  his 
vision  the  spectre  of  a  lion  gliding  over  the  sea, 
"  yawning  and  gaping  wide  as  he  went,"  and 
belching  forth  a  most  horrible  blast  of  sound. 
Upon  this  monster's  disappearance,  there  rose 
a  tempest,  wherein,  to  calm  the  shipmen's  fears, 
Sir  Humphrey  uttered  godly  wisdom,  and,  lifting 
his  voice  that  all  the  company  might  hear,  cried 
out,  "  We  are  as  near  to  heaven  here  at  sea  as 
at  land."  Near,  indeed,  was  the  great  Gilbert 
to  his  faith's  haven,  for  that  hurricane  soon  swal- 
lowed the  little  vessel  and  all  thereon.  Yet  I 
think  the  good  knight's  memory  is  green  ;  that 


JACKDAWS   AND    HEROES.  5 

his  golden  anchor,  with  a  pearl  at  peak,  badge  of 
his  sovereign's  special  grace,  is  not  forgot ;  that  his 
crest,  a  squirrel,  whose  living  prototype  still  leaps 
in  the  old  fir  trees  beside  his  castle,  is  yet  had  in 
remembrance  ;  and  also  his  motto,  worthy  of  so 
righteous  and  valiant  a  gentleman:  '■^ Malem  mori^ 
quam  mutarey  The  navigator  passed  to  his  great, 
restless  resting-place  in  1584;  Sir  Walter  Ralegh, 
then  busy  with  the  colonisation  of  Virginia,  did 
not  kneel  at  Westminster  and  brush  his  grey  hair 
from  the  path  of  the  axe  until  Fate  had  juggled 
with  him  through  four-and-thirty  further  years. 
Then  his  sword  and  pen  finished  their  busy 
labours ;  his  wise,  beautiful  head  fell  low  at 
the  will  of  a  coward  King ;  and  the  portion 
of  the  great,  "well-doing,  ill  report,"  was  won. 
At  gloaming  time,  when  the  jackdaws  make  an 
end  for  the  day,  when  weary  birds  rustle  in  the 
ivy  ere  they  sleep,  and  evensong  of  thrushes  throbs 
through  the  dimpsy  light,  loving  hearts  and  eyes, 
gifted  to  feel  and  see  a  little  above  the  level  prose 
of  working  hours,  shall  yet  conceive  these  heroes 
of  old  time  as  moving  within  their  deserted  courts. 
Some   chambers   are   still   whole,  and    bats   sidle 


6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

through  their  naked  windows  at  the  call  of  dusk  ; 
some  are  thrown  open  to  sun  and  rain  and  storm; 
the  chapel  stands  intact ;  the  scoop  for  holy  water 
lies  still  within  the  thickness  of  its  wall.  But 
aloft,  where  rich  arras  once  hid  the  stone  and  silver 
sconces  held  the  torch,  Nature  now  sets  her  hand, 
brings  spleenwort  and  hart's-tongue,  trails  the  ivy, 
the  speedwell,  and  the  toadflax.  Bird-sown  sap- 
lings suck  life  from  the  crumbling  mortar ;  pelli- 
tory-of-the-wall  hangs  its  foliage  for  tapestry ; 
and  the  huge  throats  of  the  chimneys  are  choked 
with  accretions  of  dead  sticks  piled  by  generation 
upon  generation  of  industrious  daws.  A  mar- 
vellous delicacy  of  tone  pervades  the  face  of  this 
ruin,  and  ebony,  ochre,  grey,  and  white  lichens, 
spread  in  a  rich  texture  upon  it  from  fern-crowned 
battlement  to  mossy  foundation.  The  great  planes 
of  subdued  colour  sweep  from  harmony  to  har- 
mony, shine  rosy  in  the  dawnlight,  or  grey  under 
the  rain.  The  sun  loves  their  faces  ;  moonlight 
weaves  them  into  dream-pictures  of  ebony  and 
silver.  Secret  chambers  lie  hidden  within  the 
thickness  of  the  walls ;  old  subterranean  ways 
are  suspected  ;  antique  hinges  and  the  staples  of 


JACKDAWS    AND    HEROES.  7 

vanished  doors  still  paint  the  stones  with  red 
rust.  Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  quadrangle 
a  kitchen  stands  ;  but  the  banqueting-hall  and 
much  of  the  upper  regions  have  disappeared,  for 
time  has  so  fretted  the  granite,  so  changed  its 
contours,  that  only  antiquary  may  speculate  or 
architect  hazard  of  what  aspect  was  the  manor 
house  in  its  youth  and  prime. 

Ivy-mantled,  solemn,  silent,  it  stands  like  a 
sentient  thing,  and  broods  with  blind  eyes  upon 
ages  forgotten ;  when  these  grey  stones  still  echoed 
neigh  of  horse  and  bay  of  hound,  rattle  of  steel, 
blare  of  trump,  and  bustle  of  great  retinues,  where 
was  open  house  in  the  spacious  days.  Under 
June's  soft  green  shadows  the  castle  lies ;  and 
History  has  no  thriUing  page  devoted  to  it,  for 
Compton's  scanty  story  is  at  once  inglorious  and 
unstained.  No  unhappy  spirit  haunts  its  deso- 
lation, and  the  mighty  dead,  despite  their  taking 
off,  revisit  these  glimpses  of  the  moon  no  more. 
Good  red  tilth  winds  round  about,  and  the  clank 
of  plough  and  cry  of  man  answers  the  chime  of 
the  jackdaws  ;  grey  boughs  of  ancient  orchards 
stretch    to    the    walls ;  bluebells,   forget-me-nots, 


8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

pansies,  and  columbines  are  budding  at  the  great 
entrance  ;  a  tortoiseshell  cat,  her  little  paws  tucked 
beneath  her,  sits  upon  the  "  upping-stock  "  or 
mounting-block,  wherefrom  many  a  hero  leapt  to 
horse  in  Devon's  golden  age. 

So  we  find  the  place,  at  the  time  of  misty-eyed 
young  Spring,  and  observe  within  this  theatre 
from  olden  days  the  figures  of  a  man  and  a 
woman. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    TRUST. 

THE  Castle  of  Compton  was  not  wholly 
deserted,  for  in  the  past  a  caretaker  occu- 
pied some  chambers  at  the  southern  cor- 
ner of  it.  Thomasin  Hatherley's  tenure  dated 
back  to  memories  already  more  than  a  generation 
old ;  for  after  long  and  worthy  service  with  the 
Baskervilles  —  latter-day  Lords  of  the  Manor  — 
she  had  been  rewarded  with  this  sinecure,  and 
since  dwelt  very  comfortably  at  Compton.  Evi- 
dences of  splendour  marked  the  rooms  rendered 
habitable  for  a  caretaker's  needs,  and  in  chambers, 
lofty  and  airy  for  the  time  of  their  erection,  the 
widow  Hatherley  dwelt  with  a  grandchild,  and  a 
brother  some  twenty  years  younger  than  herself. 
So  at  least  the  relationship  obtaining  between 
these  three  persons  was  understood  by  all  men, 
from  Sir  Archer  Baskerville,  Squire  of  the  Marl- 
dons,  downward.  Sibella  Hatherley  ministered 
to  her  aged  grandmother,  did  the  necessary  work 

9 


10  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

of  the  household,  and  conducted  chance  visitors 
over  the  ruined  castle  —  a  labour  her  grandparent 
had  reluctantly  relinquished  after  she  reached  the 
age  of  eightv-five  ;  Joshua  Hatherley — a  man 
of  lowly  intelligence  —  worked  as  a  labourer  on 
the  farm  of  the  Gilberts,  where  it  rose  in  a  nest 
of  orchards  upon  a  slope  over  against  Compton  ; 
and  ancient  Thomasin  herself,  now  fallen  upon 
the  last  waning  dusk  of  a  life  unusually  long, 
sat  and  dreamed  —  by  the  ingle  during  winter, 
among  the  flowers  in  summer-time  —  of  the  days 
left  far  behind  her. 

She  sat  there  now  on  a  June  morning  in  an 
old  canvas  chair  made  for  her  by  a  husband  dead 
these  thirty  years.  Beside  the  dame  stood  an  open 
Bible  on  a  little  table  ;  and  all  around  was  the  flow 
of  the  sap,  the  full  choir  of  the  birds,  and  the 
pulses  of  a  world  waking  again,  quickening  again 
to  the  last  seed  in  the  sun-kissed  furrow,  to  the 
least  spore  of  fern  within  some  mossy  cranny  of 
the  castle  walls. 

Full  of  thought  sat  Thomasin,  and  she  ran 
one  bony  finger  up  and  down  over  the  knotted 
veins  that  laced  her  other  hand. 


A    TRUST.  11 

"  Gone  !  "  she  was  thinking.  "  Cut  off  in  the 
fulness  of  his  strength.  A  man  as  might  have 
stood  to  work  for  twenty  year  an'  more  accordin' 
to  Nature.  An'  me  laggin'  wi'  three  figures  starin' 
me  in  the  faace  a'most.  Then  who's  to  keep  my 
secret  for  Sib?  Who's  to  be  trusted  now?  Some- 
body must  knaw  fDr  certain  ;  but  when  a  body 
gets  to  fourscore  an'  ten,  her  doan't  put  no  gert 
behef  in  men  folks.  .  .  .  Parson  might  have 
been  thought  worthy  ;  but  he  thinks  of  nought 
but  foxes,  an'  he's  dazzled  by  the  Pope  of  Rome 
seemin'ly — do  preach  in  a  windin'-sheet,  or  some 
such  fantastic  contrivance,  'stead  of  a  orderly  black 
gownd.  Who'd  trust  such  a  perilous  popinjay 
wi' bank-notes?  .  .  .  Gilbert  gone!  'Twas  awnly 
essterday  1  was  mindin'  the  old  time  an'  the  far- 
reachin'  bitterness  when  Mary  Gilbert  —  maiden 
name  Moss  —  took  the  farmer  when  she  might 
have  had  the  Squire.  An'  Baskervilles  be  that 
peacock-proud,  by  reason  that  they  comed  to 
England  wi'  the  French  afare  the  Word  of 
God,  like  they  Pomeroys  and  other  foreigners 
of  high  renown.  .  .  .  Who  to  tell  ?  Who  to 
trust  ?     There's    Dick    Gilbert,   of  course  ;    but 


12  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

he'm  avvnly  a  green  youth,  an'  so  set  'pon  Sib 
that " 

The  dame's  musings  were  cut  short  at  this 
juncture,  and  she  dismissed  a  problem  very  dis- 
quieting and  too  difficult  for  her  aged  brains.  A 
man  appeared  and  came  slowly  towards  the  Castle  ; 
then,  stopping  before  Gammer  Hatherley,  he  set 
down  a  large  wicker  basket  covered  with  Ameri- 
can cloth,  mopped  his  forehead,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  ancient  woman. 

"  Ah,  Maister  Newte,  you'm  always  a  pleasant 
sight  for  a  auld  sawl,"  she  said. 

Some,  however,  might  have  differed  from  the 
dame.  Alpheus  Newte  was  plump  and  florid 
and,  at  present,  very  warm.  A  great  humour 
lighted  his  small  eyes,  and  they  twinkled  like  a 
pig's  from  between  fat  lids  and  under  black  eye- 
brows. His  clean  shorn  face  was  round,  his  fore- 
head broad  and  pimply,  his  mouth  large,  and  his 
teeth  faulty.  An  almost  clerical  garb  was  affected 
by  Mr.  Newte,  although  his  occupation  —  of  trav- 
elling pedlar  —  might  not  seem  at  first  glance  to 
promise  a  mind  cast  in  particularly  pious  mould. 
But  this  packman  had    more    talents    than    one, 


A   TRUST.  13 

as  shall  appear,  and  he  never  allowed  a  natural 
fluency  of  speech  and  a  predilection  for  public 
speaking  to  remain  unexercised.  These  gifts 
were  of  unquestioned  service,  and  our  "Johnny 
Fortnight,"  as  such  itinerant  wanderers  were 
called  fifty  years  ago  in  the  South,  contrived  to 
make  a  very  respectable  living  by  employment 
of  a  wide  tact,  ready  humour,  and  a  native 
shrewdness  that  rose  almost  to  genius  in  rare 
moments,  but  sank   to  craft  more  often. 

To  look  at  him  was  to  laugh,  despite  his  dirty 
white  tie  and  respectable  hat ;  but  he  knew  when 
and  where  to  trust  his  comic  gifts,  when  to  con- 
ceal them,  when  to  quote  Scripture.  Those  who 
called  him  "Johnny"  were  most  numerous,  and 
they  urged  him  to  abandon  the  chapman's  life, 
become  a  mountebank,  and  add  a  little  to  the 
world's  laughter.  Others,  who  spoke  always  of 
"  Mr.  Alpheus  Newte,"  and  rebuked  the  lighter 
sort  for  their  opinion,  also  believed  that  this  man 
was  spending  his  time  to  poor  purpose ;  but  they 
held  that  his  place  was  the  ministry.  There 
seemed  to  be  the  germ  or  nucleus  of  a  new  sect 
in  Alpheus   Newte,  and   Mr.  Cloberry,  a  serious- 


14  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

minded  farmer  from  Upper  Marldon,  held  so 
Hrmly  to  this  opinion,  that  he  offered  the  wanderer 
a  lofty  and  well-ventilated  barn,  standing  upon  the 
high  road  to  the  mother  church  of  the  district,  and 
promised  to  fit  it  up  with  all  necessary  furniture, 
if  Alpheus  would  play  pastor,  and  henceforth  con- 
fine himself  to  a  local  career  in  that  capacity. 

This  matter  was  now  under  Mr.  Newte's  con- 
sideration, and  the  prospect  appealed  to  him  in 
various  ways  ;  yet  he  had  almost  decided  against 
it,  for  the  chances  of  practical  success  were  doubt- 
ful. The  Church  was  strong  in  Upper  Marldon, 
and  Farmer  Cloberry  had  blown  hot  and  cold  on 
more  than  one  occasion. 

Now  ancient  Thomasin  was  of  those  who  held 
Alpheus  a  leader  of  men. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said.  "  Get  a  chair  out  the 
kitchen  an*  bide  in  the  shade  ;  then  speak  a  com- 
fortin'  word  to  a  auld  woman.  A  burnin'  an'  a 
shinin'  light,  like  what  you  be,  didn't  ought  trapse 
the  country  wi'  a  gert  basket  tull  o'  fal-lals  an* 
trinkrums  —  all  foolish  toys  to  catch  sweethearts." 

"  Burning  an*  shining  I  am,  mother;  but  'tis 
the   sudden    fierceness    of  the   sun    on    a  carcase 


A   TRUST.  15 

prone  to  fatness.  There's  nothing  like  an  honest 
heart  to  breed  fat.  The  Word,  I  see.  What  a 
lesson  you  are  to  the  rising  generation  I  —  a  beau- 
tiful Christian  life,  with  the  blessed  Word  always 
within  a  yard  of  your  elbow,  as  it  should  be." 

"You've  got  it  in  your  head,  which  be  better. 
But  memory's  a  vain  thing  at  my  time  of  life  — 
an'  power  of  sight  be  likewise  vain.  Tell  a  com- 
fortin'  speech,  will  'e,  as  soon  as  you've  got  your 
wind  back.  I  be  down-daunted  this  marnin' 
along  o'  F'armer  Gilbert's  sudden  death." 

"  Like  the  grass  of  the  field  —  a  glory  to-day, 
to-morrow  cast  into  the  6ven.  Not  that  there's 
any  oven  heating  for  Gregory  Gilbert  —  a  very 
good,  upright  man." 

"  He  was  proud,  however,  an'  reckoned  he 
corned  of  better  stock  than  Squire's  self  Gil- 
bert's was  a  gert  name  wance,  and  built  this 
rubbishy  auld  place,  so  I  was  taught  when  I 
corned  here;  but  he  —  the  man  that's  dead  — 
couldn't  show  no  certain  claim,  for  his  folks  have 
been  working  farmers  and  cider-makers  so  long 
as  any  livin'  body  can  mind.  An'  that's  enough 
to  go  upon.      But  a  gude  man  ;  an'  his  death's  a 


i6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

trouble  to  me  for  more  reasons  than  wan.  Now 
cheer  me,  will  'e  ?  I've  failed  back  'pon  the  Auld 
Testament  of  late  ;  an'  it  do  look  a'most  as  if 
God  A'mighty  were  busier  then  than  now.  He 
was  down  'pon  the  evil-doer  like  Doom  in  them 
days  ;  now  'tis  shocking  the  number  of  rascals 
that  flourish  even  wi'in  a  walk  of  this  parish,  to 
name  no  names." 

"  His  eye  is  on  them,  ma'am  ;  the  Lord's  hand 
will  fall  just  at  the  critical  pitch.  'Twas  always 
the  same.  He  gives  this  generation  plenty  of 
rope  —  to  hang  itself  with.  There's  a  day  of 
reckoning,  and  that  nearer  than  some  of  us 
guess.      No  son  of  Adam   will  escape." 

He  mopped  his  face,  dried  his  hot  neck  under- 
neath the  collar,  then  turned  to  the  Bible. 

"  Been  readin'  about  the  man  awnly  this  marn- 
in'  —  Adam,  I  mean,"  said  Gammer  Hatherley. 
"  Very  fust  word  he  tells  is  fulish  —  as  if  anybody 
could  hide  hisself  from  the  Lard  !  " 

"  A  many  have  wanted  to,  however,"  said  Mr. 
Newte.  "  And  'twas  a  decent  wish,  come  to 
think  of  it,  for  the  good  soul  hadn't  a  stitch  to 
his  name  at  the  time." 


A   TRUST.  17 

"  He  wasn't  very  well  eggicated,  poor  twoad, 
for  sartain,"  allowed  the  old  woman,  tolerantly. 
"'Mazin'  thing  is  how  much  he  did  knaw.  But 
for  the  mercy  of  God  he'd  have  been  a  full  grawed 
zany  —  a  fool,  to  say  it  wi'out  onkindness." 

"  A  fool,  no  doubt,  mother,"  admitted  Alpheus. 
"  And  the  fools  have  done  more  harm  in  this 
world  than  the  knaves,  as  you  can  very  well  see 
in  Adam's  case.  For  why  ?  Because  there  are 
more  of  them,  and  they  breed  wonderfully  free, 
do  fools.  You  may  have  noticed  that,  if  you've 
cast  any  particular  thought  to  the  parents  of  long 
families.  Yes,  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  things 
that  ever  happened,  Mrs.  Hatherley,  is  that  God 
Almighty,  in  His  inscrutable  wisdom,  made  our 
first  parent  so  simple.  To  think  of  missing  the 
Tree  of  Life  —  planted  there  under  his  nose!  I 
speak  as  a  mere  man  when  I  say  it,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Hatherley  nodded.  It  was  a  subject  that 
greatly  interested  her. 

"  And  growin'  still  in  some  outlandish  foreign 
plaace  so  like  as  not,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Newte  smiled  at  the  thought. 

"  If  I  had  a  hope  to  find  it,  I  would  go  to  the 


i8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

tropics  as  a  missionary,"  he  declared.  "  To  think 
the  tree's  there,  and  nobody  to  eat  of  it  and  be- 
come immortal  but  monkeys  !  An  immortal  ape, 
ma'am,  is  a  very  unquieting  thought,  I  assure 
you." 

"  So  'tis  then,  an'  a  creepy  beast  best  of  times. 
Such  things  better  not  be  spoke  even  by  you. 
Now  tell  a  bit  if  you'm  rested.  Theer's  many 
matters  I  want  to  put  afore  'e  to-day." 

Mr.  Newte  sat  down,  took  the  great  Book 
upon  his  knees,  scanned  the  family  history  boldly 
written  upon  the  first  leaf,  and  then,  turning  to  the 
New  Testament,  read  the  first  verse  that  met  his 
eye,  and  proceeded  to  expound  it  in  an  amiable, 
pedestrian  fashion.  The  humorous  bent  of  his 
mind  led  him  in  one  direction  ;  the  necessity  of 
keeping  his  reputation  with  Mother  Hatherley 
chastened  his  tongue.  He  spoke  for  half  an  hour 
with  glib  choice  of  words,  then  ceased  and  asked 
for  some  cider. 

With  grunts  and  groans  the  old  woman  rose 
and  bid  her  friend  accompany  her  into  the  house. 
Here  certain  old  chambers  above  stairs  were 
turned  into  sleeping-rooms,  a  back  place  was  used 


A    TRUST.  19 

for  washing  and  cooking,  and  in  a  front  apart- 
ment the  Hatherleys  dwelt. 

Hither  came  Thomasin,  after  Newte,  familiar 
with  its  position,  had  visited  the  cider  barrel. 
Then  she  bid  him  sit  down  and  listen  to  her 
difficulties. 

"  You  must  knaw,"  she  said,  "  that  Gregory 
Gilbert  an'  me  have  been  friends  since  boy  an' 
gal,  though  he,  an'  his  faither  afore  him,  was  alius 
in  a  much  higher  way  of  life  than  me  an'  mine  — 
my  faither  bein'  no  more'n  gamekeeper  to  Sir 
Archer  Baskerville's  grandfather.  But  chance 
thrawed  us  together  here  an'  theer ;  an'  in  the 
matter  of  his  wife,  Mary  Gilbert,  I  did  un  a  gude 
turn  now  an'  again  an'  carried  letters  between  'em. 
About  the  lifelong  hatred  betwixt  the  Baskerville 
of  this  generation  an'  the  Gilberts,  I  need  not 
tell  'e.  That's  not  to  the  point.  All  I  want 
from  you  is  to  take  a  trust  an'  fill  Greg.  Gilbert's 
shoes  in  the  matter  of  my  gal  Sibella.  Parson  I 
don't  trust,  for  the  man's  a  heathen,  an'  won't 
even  promise  me  that  little  lew  corner  in  Marldon 
churchyard  my  heart's  been  set  on  these  forty 
year.      He  sez  in  his  lewd  way,  '  Fust  come,  fust 


20  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

sarved,'  which  han't  a  purty  fashion  to  speak  to  a 
auld  woman  ;  an'  now  the  graves  have  reached 
the  very  place  I  be  hankering  arter,  an'  as  that 
Tabby  Strickland  up  the  village  is  like  to  die 
afore  me,  though  younger  by  two  year,  her'll 
have  the  spot,  an'  I'll  be  put  out  in  the  sun, 
wheer  they  baggerin'  childer  play  between  school. 
An'  so  I  won't  trust  the  man ;  but  you'm  dif- 
fcr'nt.  1  can  trust  you.  A  poor  orphan  would 
be  safe  in  your  hands." 

*'  I  hope  so,  indeed.  Was  Gilbert  a  trustee  for 
your  granddaughter  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  knaw  nothing  about  such  words  as 
that;  but  I  left  him  wi'  a  secret,  and  as  he'm 
gone  afore  me,  'tis  time  I  looked  around  for 
somewan  else  to  carry  it.  Do  'e  see  thickly  li'l 
piece  o'  furniture  in   the  corner  o'   the  room  ?  " 

"  I  do.  It's  worth  a  good  bit  of  money.  Old 
Sheraton,  and  a  very  beautiful  specimen." 

"So  Squire  sez.  Fle've  oftered  me  five  pound 
for  it;  an'  wance,  when  I  reckon  he  was  market- 
merry,  to  say  so  wi'out  disrespect,  he  offered  me 
ten  pound.  But  theer  'tis,  an*  I  won't  part  wi'  it, 
though  the  thing  may  be  sold   for  Sib  arter  I'm 


A    TRUST.  21 

gone  if  she  pleases.  My  husband  got  it  at  a  li'l 
sale  down  Brixham  way,  an'  awnly  paid  ten  shillin' 
for  it,  awin'  to  nobody  knowin'  nought  about  its 
value.  An'  theer's  the  fust  li'l  socks  as  ever 
Sibella's  faither  wore  in  't,  wi'  other  family  mat- 
ters. Now  take  the  key  from  out  of  that  yellow 
stoneware  dog  'pon  the  mantelshelf,  will  'e  ? 
Then  unlock  the  cabinet." 

Mr.  Newte  obeyed,  and  opening  the  door  of 
the  little  bureau,  peered  in  with  bright  black 
eyes. 

"Ah,  you'm  glazin'  sharp,  my  son,  but  you 
don't  see  nought,  do  'e  ? " 

"  Only  a  pair  of  infant's  socks,  mother.  Beau- 
tiful wool,  too.  We  don't  spin  such  wool  in 
these   days." 

"He  lies  in  heathen  ground,  under  heathen 
trees,  poor  blid.  A  good  son  accordin'  to  his 
lights,  but  not  so  good  as  my  eldest  what  was 
took  off  by  a  reapin'  machine.  Now  press  floor 
of  the  thing  an'  pinch  the  little  knob  underneath; 
then  you'll  see." 

The  man  did  as  he  was  bid  ;  whereupon  a  gap 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  back  of  the  cabinet,  and 


22  THE    GOOn    RED    EARTH. 

a  secret  receptacle  stood  revealed.  Within  it  he 
found  a  bundle  of  blue  documents  fastened  and 
sealed   with    red   wax,  and  a  flat   tin    box. 

"  Leave  the  papers,  but  fetch  out  the  box. 
Then  open   it  an'   count  'em." 

Johnny  Fortnight  gazed  with  frank  admiration. 
He  licked  his  lips,  then  his  finger. 

"  Ten  pound  notes  they  be,  an'  never  in  a  dirty 
hand  vet.  Count  'em,  please.  That's  my  Sib's 
money.  It  goodied  up  to  a  thousand  pound  five 
years  ago.  Then  Gilbert,  as  had  it  out  to  inter- 
est for  me,  told  me  something  had  gone  scat,  an' 
I  growed  frightened,  an'  reckoned  I  wouldn't 
trust  the  stuff  out  in  the  wicked  world  no  more. 
My  husband  sweated  fifty  year  for  it  as  under- 
gardener  to  the  Court,  an'  I  worked  my  fingers 
to  the  bone  for  it  up  to  West  Lodge,  and  at  the 
House  too  —  not  to  name  the  extra  hundred 
when  I  was  wet-nurse  to  present  Squire,  an'  saved 
his  life  by  all  accounts.  An'  I'll  have  the  money 
onder  my  own  eye  henceforth  till  I  pass  away. 
There's  a  thousand   pounds,  or    I'm   a   liar." 

"  A  thousand  pounds  to  a  penny.  'Tis  a  great 
deal  of  money  to  have  here,  Mrs.  Hatherlev." 


A    TRUST.  23 

"  Safer  here  than  out  in  the  world.  Only  you 
knows  about  it,  now  Gilbert's  gone.  I  wouldn't 
tell  my  awn  brother,  'cause  he've  got  sticky  fin- 
gers where  money's  the  question  ;  nor  vet  Sibella. 
Because  a  gal  as  knawed  she'd  got  all  that  to  her 
fortune  would  be  like  to  toss  her  head  tu  high  an' 
grow  spoiled.  'Tis  to  be  hers  when  I  die  —  not 
afore." 

"  Her  age  at  present  ?  " 

"  Nineteen." 

"And  the  documents  ?  " 

"  They'm  hers  tu ;  though  what's  in  'em  I 
don't  know  more'n  the  dead.  Not  so  well  for 
that  matter,  for,  thank  God,  I  was  never  curious. 
You  see  two  children  was  all  ever  I  had.  Fust 
died  'pon  the  land  —  a  braave  young  youth 
stricken  down  in  his  strength  by  wan  of  them 
cussed  new-fangled  things,  wi'  more  knives  to  'un 
than  the  dowl's  got  teeth  ;  t'other  went  to  furrin 
paarts,  havin'  a  call  as  some  do  to  turn  his  back 
'pon  his  native  plaace.  Africa  'twas  he  went  — 
wheerever  that  may  be.  Faither  knawed  —  my 
husband  I  mean — but  I  never  did.  He  went 
at  thirty,  and    he   married  outways,  a  English  gal. 


24  THE    (iC)OD    RED    EARTH. 

There  was  ii  darter  as  the  mother  Hved  to  kiss, 
an'  no  more.  An'  come  a  tew  year  later,  my 
WilHam  sent  the  Httle  maid  home  aK)ng  wi'  fifty 
poiuul.  An'  a  wliile  after,  just  afore  he  was 
comin'  back  hisself  to  pay  us  a  visit,  the  black 
savages  failed  upon  him,  and  tore  down  his  farm 
and  killed  him,  as  we  heard  long  after.  But 
them  papers  comed  with  the  little  child,  an'  a 
message  that  the  whole  packet  was  to  be  give  to 
Sib  'pon  her  turnin'  one-an'-twentv.  'Tis  about 
her  mother's  people;  an'  I  ban't  noways  inter- 
ested in  them;  though  Sib  must  see  to  'em  for 
herself,  it  she  so  wills,  when  she  comes  to  read 
what's  set  down." 

Mr,  Newte  stroked  the  money. 

"  Dear  little  maid,"  he  said.  "  Your  unfailing 
good  sense,  mother,  seems  to  show  itself  in  this 
choice  of  me,  if  I  may  say  so  without  self-praise. 
Your  secret  will  be  safe  enough.  1  will  share  it 
with  the  old  cabinet;  and  after  you  have  gone 
to  your  reward,  I  vyill  be  —  a  —  grandmother 
to  dear  Sibella.  I  cannot  take  your  place,  but 
I  will  watch  her  and  shield  her  for  love  of 
you." 


A   TRUST.  25 

*'  Caan't  sav  no  fiiirer  ;  an'  I'd  ax  you  to  take 
just  a  slip  of  that  tissue  yourself,  Maister  Newte  ; 
awnlv  I  knaw  such  things  is  all  wind  in  the  trees 
and  vanity  to  a  man  of  vour  high  stamp." 

Mr.  Newte  stroked  the  money  again. 

"  Mere  paper,"  he  said.  "  Thank  God,  mere 
paper — to  me.  Yet  more  powerful  than  gun- 
powder—  the  stuff  that  spins  the  world,  ma'am. 
Yes,  she  shall  have  it  safely,  and  the  documents 
also,  in  fulness  of  time." 

"  I'm  sure  you've  took  a  weight  off  of  me, 
and  if  you  could  but  ordain  for  me  to  lie  in  that 
lew  corner  of  the  churchyard,  I'd  die  happy  to- 
morrow. Here's  the  maid  comin'.  Pop  the 
money  away  quick,  will  'e  ?  " 

Sibella  entered,  as  Alpheus  Newte  hastily 
closed  the  cabinet. 

"  Funeral's  for  Thursday,  granny  dear,"  she 
said;  "an'  'tis  hoped  you'll  go  if  a  good  day  with 
you.  Mrs.  Gilbert  be  goin'  herself  Dear  sawl, 
she's  heart-broke,  Dick  believes,  but  awnly  he 
guesses  her  sorrow,  for  none  can  see  it." 

"  Stern  stuff.  Woman  of  fewest  words  ever  I 
met,"   said   Gammer   Hatherley.     "  Shc've   gude 


26  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

call  to  weep  whether  or  no,  for  never  a  better 
man  than  her  husband  filled  a  grave  tu  soon." 

"  It  occurs  to  me,"  murmured  Mr.  Newte, 
"  that  I  might  go  across  to  the  Farm  at  once. 
A  word  in  season  —  balm  for  the  sore  spirit, 
mother.  Yes,  and  some  neat  mourning  rings, 
not  to  mention  certain  trinkets  in  bog  oak  and 
some  black  satin  ribbon  and  various  jet  adorn- 
ments. My  basket  is  fitted  with  compartments. 
At  the  mention  of  death  my  eye  grows  sad,  and 
I  turn  to  the  bottom  of  it.  A  birth  finds  me 
in  the  upper  stratum  —  soft  flannels,  corals,  violet 
powder,  dill-water,  and  so  forth.  Yes,  and  a  wed- 
ding—  that's  the  largest  division  in  the  middle. 
All  summed  up,  you  see,  in  those  three  com- 
partments—  all  there  —  the  whole  needs  and 
necessities  of  human  clay,  from  a  napkin  to  a 
winding-sheet.  And  cheap — God,  He  knows 
how  cheap.  I  often  wonder  mvself  bv  what 
means  I  live.  However,  He  feedeth  the  spar- 
rows." 

"  Honesty  be  the  best  policy,"  said  Mrs. 
Hatherley. 

"  And  generosity  the  worst,"  declared  Alpheus. 


A   TRUST.  27 

"  Yet  some  people's  smiles  are  as  good  as  other 
people's  money,  and  I've  got  a  heart  like  butter. 
Sibella,  my  dear,  here's  a  little  thing  in  my  basket 
that  will  be  proper  to  this  sad  ceremony.  It  need 
only  cost  a  '  thank  you.'  " 

She  followed  him,  and  presently  returned  with 
a  large  black  locket  on  which  the  letter  S  appeared. 

"  He  had  a  whole  alphabet  of  them  in  the 
funeral  compartment,"  she  explained.  "And  it 
opens,  granny,  and  there's  a  place  inside  for  the 
hair   of   the    person   that's   dead  —  or   somebody 


CHAPTER    III. 

FUNERAL     BAKED     MEATS. 

ON  the  bosom  of  a  great  hill  that  rose  to 
the  east  of  Compton  Castle  appeared 
Orchard  Farm.  To-day  it  stood  above 
acres  of  snow  and  crimson  where  a  sea  of  blos- 
som, musical  with  murmur  of  unnumbered  bees, 
rippled  to  its  whitewashed  walls.  Beyond  and 
above  there  stretched  great  hay-fields  shimmer- 
ing with  heat  and  twinkling  with  light  under  the 
caress  of  fitful  breezes.  The  thrush  was  in  the 
elm,  the  lark  on  high  ;  life  sang  and  gloried  in 
the  golden  hour ;  yet  the  farm  stood  desolate,  for 
its  lord  was  no  more.  The  blinds  were  drawn, 
and  small  bows  of  crape  dotted  the  straw  bee- 
hives, where  an  old  labourer,  heedful  of  the 
ancient  saying,  had  set  them. 

As  the  morning  waxed  to  noon,  a  black  pro- 
cession wound  away  from  Orchard  Farm,  and 
Gregory  Gilbert's  dust  entered  upon  its  last 
journey.      In   Upper    Marldon   churchyard   they 

28 


FUNERAL    BAKED    MEATS.  29 

laid  him,  and  his  wife's  tearless  eyes  roamed  over 
the  faces  of  the  large  gathering  beside  his  grave  ; 
but  she  saw  nobody,  and  stood  in  reaHty  as  blind 
to  all  surroundings  as  her  son,  who  wept  openly, 
and  let  the  tears  run  down  his  brown  cheek  with- 
out heed  or  hindrance. 

The  dead  man  had  been  known  far  and  wide 
for  a  Christian  in  his  deeds.  Simplicity,  self- 
denial,  honesty,  were  the  corner-stones  of  his  life. 
He  had  dealt  uprightly  with  his  neighbour  and 
with  the  world.  And  so  it  came  about  that  his 
name  was  honoured  and  his  passing  deplored.  A 
company  of  near  three  hundred  crowded  the  little 
burying-ground,  where  it  lay  beneath  the  em- 
battled towers  of  St.  John  Baptist's  Church,  and, 
behind  the  coaches  of  the  mourners,  had  followed 
carriages  not  a  few  conveying  empty  compliment 
from  those  of  higher  estate  than  the  dead.  The 
chocolate  and  yellow  chariot  of  the  Baskervilles 
alone  was  missing ;  yet  though  that  ancient  family 
had  lorded  it  over  Upper  Marldon  for  many  gen- 
erations, and,  indeed,  inhabited  "  The  Court,"  the 
sole  mansion  of  note  within  half  a  league,  yet  none 
wondered  at  the  circumstance,  for  the  countryside 


30  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

knew  the  story  of  that  feud  pertaining  between 
these  families  and  the  romantic  event  responsible 
for  it. 

The  necessary  incident  may  be  related  here. 
When  Britain  entertained  an  angel  unawares,  and 
Victoria  of  blessed  memory  first  ascended  to  her 
throne,  one  Mary  Moss  was  the  beauty  of  Lower 
Marldon;  and  Archer  Baskerville,  his  father's 
heir,  had  proposed  to  her  and  bid  her  fly  away 
with  him  until  such  time  as  his  parent's  wrath 
should  wane.  But  the  girl  was  not  heart-whole, 
and,  to  this  notable  lover's  fiery  indignation, 
declared  that  Gregory  Gilbert,  Farmer  Gilbert's 
son,  had  her  abiding  promise.  There  the  matter 
ended.  Archer,  a  hot  youth,  just  down  from  the 
Universitv,  soon  married  one  in  his  own  station, 
but  he  never  forgot  or  forgave  the  slight  put 
upon  him  by  a  mere  scrivener's  daughter.  Some 
ten  years  later  Mary  married  her  true  lover,  and 
in  the  course  of  time  each  husband  filled  his 
father's  place.  The  farmer  reigned  on  the  hill 
by  Compton  Castle,  and  Sir  Archer  Baskerville 
entered  into  a  patrimony  that  embraced  the 
Marldons   and    certain    fertile    regions    stretching 


FUNERAL  BAKED  MEATS.      31 

over  the  hillsides  above  Torbay,  tending  to  the 
silver  Dart  westwards,  and  easterly  approaching 
the  little  village  of  Kingslcerswell.  He  owned 
many  farms  on  the  good  red  earth ;  but 
Orchard  Farm  lay  without  his  tenure  —  a  free- 
hold from  ancient  times.  Herein  another  griev- 
ance existed,  because  successive  Baskervilles  had 
offered  high  prices  to  successive  Gilberts  for  the 
orchards  and  acres  here  outspread  in  the  midst 
of  their  own.  But  no  success  attended  their  pro- 
posals ;  indeed,  the  present  head  of  the  Basker- 
villes  had  made  none,  for  the  name  of  the 
yeoman's  family  was  gall  sufficient  within  his  cup. 
Sir  x^rcher's  wife  had  been  a  damsel  of  the  Gaun- 
ter race,  and  evil  fortune  attended  her  alliance  ; 
for  the  lady  died  of  consumption  before  her 
thirtieth  year,  though  she  left  an  only  son  of  five 
years  old  behind  her.  The  child  of  many 
prayers  and  hopes,  justifying  neither,  fell  by 
some  streak  of  atavism  upon  the  character  of  his 
mother's  ancestors,  and  proved  a  compound  of 
such  characteristics  as  had  qualified  him  tor  dis- 
tinction under  a  Drake  or  Ralegh,  but  made 
him    a    nuisance    to    those    who    loved    him     in 


32  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

early  Victorian  times.  The  wild  hawk  in  Roger 
Godolphin  Baskerville  took  him,  under  a  parent's 
hearty  curse,  abroad  ;  nor  was  that  all.  He  be- 
came engaged  upon  the  voyage,  and  married  as 
soon  as  possible  after  landing  in  Africa.  The 
particulars  of  his  alliance  none  ever  knew ;  man 
and  wife  vanished  beyond  the  ken  of  those  at 
home  ;  and  from  that  time  to  the  period  at  which 
this  narrative  begins,  no  information  respecting 
the  heir  of  the  Baskervilles  had  reached  civilisa- 
tion. It  was  believed  that  he  had  perished  in 
Central  Africa,  and  that  old  Mrs.  Hatherley's 
younger  son  had  known  of  him  there.  William 
Hatherley,  once  his  groom  at  The  Court,  had 
always  been  the  lad's  confidant,  and  a  secret 
understanding  obtained  between  them,  so  that 
they  left  England  about  the  same  time  and 
rejoined  company  as  master  and  man  in  Africa. 
But  Sir  Archer  Baskerville  cared  nothing  that 
his  disobedient  offspring  was  silent,  and  he  made 
no  effort  to  communicate  with  the  youth  or 
become  reconciled.  He  hated  heartilv  those  who 
misused  him,  and  his  pride  was  of  the  feeble  sort 
that  takes  any  attack  on  personal  esteem  as  an 


FUNERAL    BAKED    MEATS.  33 

offence  not  to  be  forgiven.  His  son  Roger,  who 
had  thus  set  him  at  nought,  was  therefore  cast 
beyond  the  pale  of  pardon;  even  as  Mary  Moss, 
when  she  refused  his  heart,  incurred  the  man's 
unsleeping  enmity,  and  brought  the  same  as  a 
dower  to  her  husband  and  to  her  offspring. 

Richard  Gilbert  and  his  mother  drove  home 
together  in  the  funeral  coach,  and  she  let  her  son 
take  her  hand  between  his  and  press  wordless 
comfort  there.  She  wept  no  tear  and  said  no 
word.  Her  nature  was  taciturn  above  common 
in  woman,  yet  those  who  knew  her  and  loved 
her  found  her  eyes  a  home  of  speech  and  under- 
stood the  language  of  them.  She  had  grown 
thin  of  late  years,  but  her  energy  waned  not  at 
all. 

"  God  be  good  to  you,  dear  mother,"  said 
Richard.  "  If  ten  years  were  only  passed.  We're 
so  near  him  still  —  my  father.  Life  looks  black 
to   me  —  what  must  it  look  to  you?" 

She  regarded  him  thoughtfully,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  The  only  good  belike  is  to  go  on  doing 
what    he    left   undone,  to    till    where    he   bid    us 


34  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

till,  and  plant  where  he  meant  to  plant,  and 
toil  so  hard  that  sleep  shall  be  dreamless  and 
the  waking  days  too  full  to  think.  I'll  try 
and  be  like  him,  mother;  yet  an'  it  1  was  the 
daps  of  him,  maybe  the  more  sorrow  for  vou, 
because  'twould  be  a  green  wound  on  memory." 

But  no  good  son  ever  bulks  as  nobly  upon 
a  mother's  eye  as  the  good  father  that  got  him. 
A  wife  whose  wedded  dream  has  been  pure  gold 
must  set  her  husband  on  a  throne  above  all 
children.  This  Mary  Gilbert  thought  and 
pressed  back  upon   her  son's   hand  gently. 

At  the  farm  a  funeral  feast  was  spread,  and 
the  labouring  folk  presently  shuffled  along  to 
the  kitchen  and  took  their  seats  at  a  table 
whereon  cold  joints  appeared,  with  ale  and  cider 
and  a  second  course  of  gooseberry  tarts  and 
yellow  jellies.  Richard  presided,  but  his  mother 
was  not  present.  A  great,  respectful  silence 
reigned  throughout  this  meal.  Once  only  a 
woman  laughed,  when  poor  Tim  Blake  —  an 
orchard  hand,  who  was  weak  in  his  intellect  — 
tried  to  put  away  some  jelly  in  his  cotton  hand- 
kerchief,   designing    to    convey   the   same   to   his 


FUNERAL    BAKED    iMEATS.  35 

mother;  but  John  Bridle,  head  man  at  Orchard 
Farm,  cried  out  indignantly:  — 

"  Hush  your  fule's  tongue,  Anne  Mason  ! 
Doan't  'e  knaw  no  better  than  to  chitter  like 
a  guinea-fowl  'pon  a  wisht  eating  like  this  here  ? 
Shame  to  such  a  female  !  " 

Anne  Mason  subsided  in  ruddy  confusion 
before  ten  pairs  of  frowning  eyes,  and  Philip 
Wonnacott,  her  lover,  glowered  at  Mr.  Bridle 
and  clenched  his  fist  under  the  table  ;  but  Abel 
Easterbrook,  the  cellar-man,  and  others,  sup- 
ported Mr.  Bridle.  Johnny  Fortnight,  without 
any  particular  invitation,  appeared  at  this  mourn- 
ful banquet,  and,  upon  its  conclusion,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  present  save  only  Richard 
Gilbert,  arose,  wiped  his  mouth,  rnd  addressed 
the  throng  in  a  fat  voice  telling  of  a  full 
stomach. 

He  dwelt  upon  the  high  qualities  of  Gregory 
Gilbert,  predicted  for  him  a  reward  above  rubies, 
commended  their  new  master  to  the  workfolk, 
and  praised  Richard  to  his  face  in  a  manner 
very  embarrassing.  Mr.  Newte  proceeded  to  an 
item   of  personal   information. 


36  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"And,  niv  tViends,"  he  said,  "I  must  tell  you 
that  this  passing  of  a  good  and  noble  creature  has 
turned  mv  own  thoughts  of  late  days  very  seriously 
to  higher  things.  '  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes 
unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  my  help.' 
Even  so.  I  have  lifted  up  my  eyes  untO' 
Higher  Marldon,  and  my  help  has  come  from 
that  righteous  man,  Farmer  Cloberry,  of  the 
Broad  Lands.  He,  good  soul,  has  been  pleased 
to  find  in  my  humble  words  some  indication 
of  power;  and  his  west  shippon,  instead  of 
sheltering  cows  from  the  winter  blast,  will  now 
shield  wayward  human  sheep  from  the  frosty 
influence  of  this  wicked  world.  In  fact,  five 
pounds  will  turn  it  into  a  little  place  of  wor- 
ship—  a  fold  for  those  who  wish  to  seek  the 
Good  Shepherd;    and  inasmuch " 

"You'm  a  fule,  Johnny  Fortnight,"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Bridle,  bluntlv.  "  Wi'  your  gifts 
o'  speech,  an'  your  mug,  an'  your  cock-eve,  you 
did  ought  to  be  a  public  merryman,  an'  bring 
folks  the  blessing  o'  honest  laughter.  What's 
more,  theer's  better  money  in  it,  for  I  knawed 
a    chap  —  my    brother's    wife's    cousin    for    that 


FUNERAL    BAKED    MEATS.  37 

matter  —  as  painted  his  nose  red,  an'  wore  a 
red  seat  to  his  breeches,  an'  a  child's  pinafore,  an' 
went  the  round  of  the  fairs  singin'  an'  dancin' 
an'  crackin'  his  fun.  An'  a  very  gude  Hvin'  he 
made.  The  world's  so  dismal  all  times  that  it 
doan't  grudge  ready   money  for  laughter." 

But  Alpheus   Newte  shook   his   head. 

"  Mr.  Bridle  !  And  you  a  man  nearer  sixty 
than  fifty  !  To  paint  my  nose  red  and  wear 
a  red  seat  too  —  and  souls  waiting  to  be  saved! 
Get  thee  behind  me,  John  Bridle !  .  .  .  We 
commence  on  Sunday  week,  friends,  and  vou 
will  all  be  welcome.  I  may  mention  that  until 
the  collections  enable  me  to  eke  out  a  frugal 
living  in  your  midst,  I  shall,  upon  workdays, 
continue  my  business,  tramp  round  and  take 
my  basket  where  its  contents  mav  be  welcomed. 
But  when  the  Lord's  Day  dawns,  wet  or  fine, 
so  long  as  He  wills,  1  shall  rise  up  in  the  out- 
house of  our  saintly  Cloberry  and  speak  the 
Message  without  fear  or  favour.  I  may  also 
mention,  on  Divine  authority,  that  the  labourer 
is  worthy  of  his  hire.  The  man  who  is  called 
to    fight    principalities    and    powers    must    have 


38  THE    GOOD    RKD    EARTH. 

the  sinews  of  war  if  he  is  to  win  the  battle. 
This  poor  fabric"  —  he  slapped  his  round  sides 
—  "this  citadel  of  clay  requires  constant  repair 
and  restoration.  The  flesh  is  weak,  —  it  hun- 
gers, it  thirsts,  its  clothes  wear  out.  If  I  was 
all  spirit  I  should  never  send  round  the  dish, 
my  brothers.  But  I  am  not  all  spirit.  I  take 
my  place  in  the  lap  of  Nature  with  the  hum- 
blest amongst  you.  For  what  am  I  ?  A  can- 
dlestick. A  humble  candlestick  cast  in  my 
Maker's  mould,  and  by  His  wisdom  furnished 
with  a  voice,  an  appetite,  and,  as  you  would 
say,  a  corporation  with  an  ample  apartment  for 
those  forms  of  nourishment  my  clay  requires. 
Therefore,  that  the  light  may  be  of  first  qual- 
ity, it  is  our  duty  to  look  to  the  oil.  At  least 
I  seem  to  think  so.  Or,  if  these  poetic  figures 
and  similes  are  beyond  the  grasp  of  you  simple 
folk,  as  well  they  may  be,  then  I  would  say 
if  you  want  good  pork  vou  must  not  spare 
hog-wash.  I  could  dilate  upon  the  subject, 
but  this  is  not  the  place  to  do  so,  for  we  still 
stand  in  the  Shadow  of  Death." 

Mr.    Newte    proceeded    with    copious    stream 


FUNERAL    BAKED    MEATS.  39 

of  speech,  half  unctuous,  half  humorous  ;  then 
Richard  Gilbert,  weary  of  the  man,  dimly  alive 
to  the  sly  laugh  lurking  under  his  utterances 
and  ill-tuned  for  humour  or  cant  in  that  dark 
hour,  rose  from  the  table,  sat  awhile  with  his 
mother  in  the  solitude  of  the  farm  parlour,  then 
restlessly  went  out  upon  the  land.  He  wan- 
dered hither  and  thither,  but  finally  turned  his 
steps  to  the  scene  of  the  morning,  and  visited 
again  his  father's  grave.  No  flowers  had  show- 
ered their  sweetness  upon  the  coffin-lid,  by 
desire  of  the  widow ;  but  now,  where  a  new 
mound  lay  and  drooping  daisies  hung  their 
heads  upon  the  turves  that  covered  it,  a  little 
cross  of  white  bluebells  appeared.  Dick's  heart 
throbbed  and  his  eyes  smarted.  He  knew  who 
had  set  it  there,  and,  glancing  about  him,  was 
quick  enough  to  see  the  disobedient  one  van- 
ishing through  a  little  gate  that  led  into  the 
churchyard  from  the  north.  The  place  was 
empty;  only  a  jackdaw  cawed  and  plumed  his 
purple  wing  on  the  church-tower ;  so  Dick 
cried  out  a  name,  and  the  departing  one  turned 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice. 


40  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  Sib  !  " 

The  girl  stopped,  came  forward,  and  took 
the  hand  that  young  Gilbert  extended  to  her. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "  It  was  wrong, 
because  Mrs.  Gilbert  expressly  wanted  none 
of  them.  But  your  father  was  so  good  to  me. 
Last  autumn  he  gave  me  the  little  pearly 
bulbs  of  my  bluebells  for  a  birthday  present 
—  an'  —  an'  it  seemed  vitty  as  he  should  have 
their  blooth.  Flowers  be  all  we  can  give  the 
dead,   Richard." 

"  Little  he  thought  when  he  gave  them  to 
you  that  their  first  blossoms  would  lie  on  the 
grass  over  his  head.  Mother  won't  come  here 
till  Sunday.  Then  they'll  be  withered  and 
gone." 

"  I'll  fling  them  away  on  Saturday,"  said 
Sibella.     "  Let  them   bide  till  then." 

They  moved  away  together,  passed  into  an 
orchard,  and  there  sat  down  awhile  out  of  sight 
from  the  fernv  lane  below.  A  colour  dance 
was  on  the  bough  ;  a  fitful  snow  of  petals  fell 
to  the  touch  of  breeze  and  bee.  Song  saturated 
the  air,  as  though  all  things  made  music  at  their 


FUNERAL    BAKED    MEATS.  41 

proper  work.  A  rill  wound  beside  the  orchard 
hedge,  and  glimmered  in  green  setting  of  liver- 
worts spread  flat  on  the  ruddy  earth,  and  water 
speedwells  springing  below;  ivy  trailed  above, 
and,  within  the  meshes  of  the  stems  a  round 
mossy  ball  grew,  where  two  tinv  brown  birds, 
cheering  each  the  other  with  merry  voice,  toiled 
to  build  the  home  that  Nature  taught  them. 
Uncurling  ferns,  stitchwort  stars,  and  the  snowy 
crests  of  umbel-bearers  arose  about  the  man 
and  maid  where  they  reclined ;  and  her  voice 
was  very  tender,  and  her  blue  eyes  soft  as  rain- 
bathed  April.  She  cooed  to  him,  yet  with 
never  a  word  of  love,  and  he  held  her  hand, 
like  a  little  boy  —  held  it  simply  without  press- 
ure or  any  sign  of  passion  —  held  it  inert,  and 
listened  to  her  sympathy  and  praise  of  the 
dead.  But  Sibella  knew  that  Richard  loved  her ; 
and  she  loved  him  the  better  in  that  no  sign  of 
love  shared  his  heart  with  sorrow  to-day. 

"  He  was  such  a  man  as  seldom  is  seen, 
Sibella." 

"  I've  heard  my  grandmother  say  as  much. 
Granny  knew  how  good  he  was." 


42  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Her  speech  reminded  the  youth  of  a  cir- 
cumstance. 

"  Strange  to  say  that  my  dear  father  was 
thinking  of  you  with  his  last  breath,  Sib. 
Your  grandmother  Hatherley  told  him  long 
since,  little  dreaming  that  he  would  die  before 
she  did,  how  she  wanted  him  to  know  certain 
things  concerning  you  —  'secrets,'  so  she  said. 
At  least  I  fancied  that  was  the  word,  though 
he  only  could  whisper  when  he  told  me.  '  I 
promised  the  auld  woman,'  he  said,  '  and  my 
promise  I  can't  keep.  So  go  you  along  to 
her  and  tell  her  how  'twas  not  forgotten,  and 
how  I  ask  her  to  tell  you,  so  that  her  grand- 
daughter shall  have  you  for  friend  instead  of 
me.  She'll  know  how  'tis,  and  be  very  sure 
that  I'd  not  sent  you  if  I  didn't  trust  you.* 
So  he  spoke.  It  was  all  Greek  to  me,  but  it 
concerns  you,  so  I  must  see  Mrs.  Hatherley 
as  soon  as  can  be." 

"  Granny's  contrary  and  suspicious  of  young 
people  —  even  me  sometimes.  But  I  lay  she'd 
trust  you  with  all  her  heart,  being  the  son  of 
Gregory    Gilbert.      Yet    you    surprise    me,    too. 


FUNERAL  BAKED  MEATS.      43 

for  what  secret  can  there  be  about  me  that  I'm 
kept  from  knowing  myself?  You'll  have  to 
tell  me,   Richard." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Time  enough  when  I  know.  You'd  think 
poorly  of  me,  I  reckon,  if  I  broke  such  a  trust 
even  to  you.  Not  to  name  father.  Somehow 
I  can't  think  him  gone.  He's  out  of  sight  for 
ever — that's  all.  We've  got  to  do  without 
sight  of  him  and  speech  of  him.  Yet  he's 
nearer  to  me  than  conscience  still.  Please  God 
he  always  will  be." 

"  'Tis  wonderful  how  things  fade  out  of 
mind." 

"Not  such  a  father  as  mine  —  never.  I'd 
let  everything  go,  even  to  farming,  rather  than 
forget  him." 

The  sun  brought  glory  to  the  West,  and  the 
orchards  acknowledged  his  mellowed  light  to 
their  last  petal,  where  miles  of  flowers  swam  in 
a  warm  mist  of  gold.  The  bees  laboured  no 
more,  shadows  lengthened,  and  the  red  light 
burnt  into  the  good  red  earth  and  set  the  tilth 
a-glowing.      Blue   smoke   rose  lazily  ;    the  rooks 


44  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

came  across  from  the  fallow  to  the  forest ;  kine 
with  full  udders  watched  by  meadow  gates  for 
the  milkers,  and  peace  deeper  than  content 
brooded  under  the  sunset. 

The  church  clock  struck  six,  as  though  un- 
willing to  number  such  a  fair  hour  with  the  past ; 
a  sun-dial  above  the  porch  told  the  same  tale 
witii  a  blue  shadow  upon  the  blushing  slate- 
face.  There  man  had  written  in  figures,  Time, 
with  rusty  lichens  of  gold  and  ebonv.  Then 
the  boy  rose  and  went  home  to  his  mother, 
while  the  girl  walked  without  speech  beside 
him  in  the  gloaming  through  dim,  vernal  lanes, 
by  grassy  hedgerows,  and  the  dewy  cradles  of 
vSpring  flowers. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE     SHERATON     CABINET, 

WHEN  late  June  had  thickened  leafy 
shadows  ;  when  ripples  of  light  raced 
over  the  ripe  hay ;  when  fruit  had 
set  in  the  orchards,  after  the  glorv  of  their 
flowers  was  done,  save  for  some  chance,  solitary, 
late  bearer  shining  alone  in  the  sea  of  leaves  ; 
on  a  day  of  cuckoo  songs  and  sunshine,  there 
came  two  visitors  to    Mrs.   Hatherley. 

Richard  Gilbert  was  the  first,  and  the  voung 
man's  stay  proved  brief,  for  upon  reminding  the 
dame  of  her  trust  to  his  departed  father,  and 
offering  himself  as  a  recipient  of  the  confidence 
in  his  parent's  place,  Dick  met  a  frank  negative. 

"  He  was  that  fond  of  Sibella,"  said  Richard. 
"And   I'm  sure  if  I   can   do  anything " 

"  You  !  A  young  youth  of  your  age  !  Not 
so,  bwov,  I  do  assure  'e.  Do  'e  suppose  I've 
bided  till  now  —  me  as  may  drop  off  like  a  ripe 
plum  in  the  night,  with  no  eye  to  see   m\'  p.T^s- 

45 


46  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

ing  but  my  Maker?  'Tweern't  very  likely  wi' 
such  a  gert  secret  as  'tis.  No  disrespect  to  you, 
but  us  caan't  put  auld  heads  on  young  shoulders. 
Rest  easy,  however,  the  right  man  knaws ;  the 
matter  be  in  safe  hands.  Sibella  will  hear  what 
she've  got  to  thank  her  granny  for  come  fulness 
of  time.  Then  her'll  pray  a  blessing,  no  doubt, 
and  I'll  see  her  prayers  a-risin'  up,  like  smoke 
of  burnt  sacrifice,  to  wheer  I  stand  beside  the 
Throne  o'   Grace." 

"  So  long  as  an  honest  man  knows  what  there 
is  to  know " 

"  Honest  and  more'n  honest,  though  that's  to 
give  a  man  a  gude  character  in  these  wild  reck- 
less days  when  ministers  o'  God  go  fox-hunting 
like  common  men.  Honest  an'  more'n  honest. 
'A  light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles;'  an'  if  I  doan't 
knaw,  who  should  ?  " 

Upon  this  Richard  strongly  suspected  Mr. 
Newte  must  be  the  receptacle  of  the  secret,  and 
tried  to  prove  it. 

*'  There  are  properer  men  than  me,  I  know. 
I  shouldn't  have  come,  but  somehow,  after  father 
specially  mentioned  It,  I  felt  'twas  my  duty.     We 


THE   SHERATON    CABINET.  47 

will  leave  it  there  then.  I  hope  you  weren't 
over-wearied  Sunday.  I  saw  vou  at  the  new 
chapel  that  Mr.  Cloberry's  rigged  out  for  Johnny 
Fortnight.  A  good  few  churchfolks  was  there 
also — just  to  seek  some  new  thing,  no  doubt. 
I  went,  but  mother  shook  her  head  when  I  told 
her." 

"Ah,  for  all  her  wisdom,  your  mother  be  con- 
tent to  listen  to  a  fox-hunter  come  Sundays," 
said  Mrs.  Hatherley,  spitefully.  "  Newte  can 
talk  the  t'other's  head  off,  an'  pray  his  head  off, 
tu.  Mr.  Baring's  a  better  judge  of  a  dog  than 
of  a  human  sawl,  an'  I'm  sure  he  knaws  more 
about  the  ways  of  a  hunted  hare  than  the  ways 
of  the  worm  that  never  shall  be  quenched.  He 
said  out  o'  the  pulpit  two  Sundays  ago,  that  the 
fires  o'  hell  were  cold  ashes  now-a-days.  Out  o' 
God's  holy  pulpit  that  anointed  man  said  it ! 
±\n  I  comed  away  in  the  middle  —  a-chitterin' 
down  the  alley  wi'  both  sticks  ;  an'  all  the  people 
starin'.  Ess  fay,  Baring  up  an'  tawld  us  as 
God's  Book  was  a  liar,  so  I  counted  it  time 
to  go.  Please  the  Lard  that  man  won't  be 
called    upon    to    bury    me,    for    not    a    thew    or 


48  THK    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

sinew  will  rot  comfortable  it  he  do.  I  might 
even  have  to  walk  again  to  fright  the  fear  of 
God  into   un  !  " 

"  Doan't  sav  such  dreadful  things,  mother," 
begged  Richard.  *'  I'm  sure  Mr.  Newte  believes 
what's  right,  an'  anybody  might  have  said  he'd 
seen  a  picture  of  the  brimstone  place  from  the 
way  he  described  it  —  down  to  the  red-hot  cin- 
ders and  the  poor  lost  souls  skipping  on   them." 

"  Ess  fay  ;  an'  Parson  Baring's  so  like  to  skip 
hisself  as  any  man.  He'll  have  to  mend  his 
ways,  or  he'll  find  what  'tis  to  have  no  cool  place 
for  the  sole  of  his  foot  come  presentlv.  Now 
you  be  off  to  your  mother.  An'  doan't  worrit 
'bout  Sibella.  My  gran'darter's  in  gude  holy 
hands ;  an'  I  can  die  easy  first  moment  the 
Lard's    mansion    be    ready    for    me." 

Rather  ill  at  ease,  for  his  ingenuous  soul  dis- 
liked Mr.  Newte,  Dick  Gilbert  departed.  That 
night  he  was  to  see  Sibella  after  dark  in  the 
ruined  chapel  of  Compton.  Their  excuse  for 
these  meetings,  which  took  place  with  increasing 
frequencv,  was  marked  by  a  fine  poetic  imagina- 
tion and  that  seriousness  of  import  attributed  to 


THE    SHERATON    CABINET.  49 

nothing,  according  to  the  custom  of  all  young 
folks  in  a  similar  pass.  For  the  boy  and  girl 
loved  one  another  truly  enough  ;  Sib  knew  quite 
well  in  her  heart  that  Dick  must  be  a  Gilbert  of 
the  historic  race,  the  greatest  man  amongst  them 
since  Sir  Humphrey  sailed  on  his  last  voyage ; 
and  Dick  loved  with  a  whole  heart  this  flaxen, 
Saxon  little  maid.  Were  not  the  Hatherleys  of 
high  renown  also,  and  had  not  they  increased  the 
sum  ot  human  happiness  under  Devon  apple 
trees  through  generations  past  ? 

At  Higher  Marldon  there  stood  a  cenotaph  to 
a  Hatherley  of  Queen  Anne's  times,  whereon  was 
set  most  generous  praise  :  — 

"  Under  this  monument  lies  one. 
Did  good  to  many,  hurt  to  none  ; 
Friended  the  rich,  reliev'd  the  poor  ; 
Was  kind  to  all  ;   who  can  do  more  ?  " 

That  the  relationship  between  this  good  lady 
and  Sibella  did  not  actually  appear,  mattered 
nothing  to  Richard  Gilbert.  His  heart  yearned 
for  the  girl,  and  a  love  held  in  abeyance  while  his 
father  lived,  now  cried  out  to  be  heard.  Only 
modesty  as  great  as  hers,  and  a  limited  vocabu- 


50  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

lary,  still  kept  him  silent.  He  had  thought  of 
writing,  but  scorned  the  step  as  cowardly. 

The  youth  now  departed,  much  cast  down 
that  his  sweetheart's  affairs  might  not  be  trusted 
to  him  ;  and  as  he  walked  through  the  scented 
beds  of  flowers  that  spread  before  the  castle 
walls,  a  man  on  horseback  passed  by,  splashed 
red  mud  over  his  gaiters,  and  drew  up  at  the 
ancient  upping-stock.  It  was  the  master  of  the 
Marldons  and   Lord  of  the   Manor. 

Of  the  Baskervilles,  a  folk  not  lacking  in 
renown,  one  has  written  in  their  archives  how 
they  prospered  and  waxed  through  four  centuries 
"without  help  of  gown,  petticoat,  or  apron." 
And  thereby  he  meant  that  the  family  was  able 
through  all  those  years  efficiently  to  maintain 
itself  without  any  augmentation  from  a  lawyer, 
an  heiress,  or  a  trade.  Now  direct  descent  from 
the  senior  branch  seemed  destined  to  terminate. 
Sir  Archer  Baskerville's  son  was  generally  sup- 
posed to  be  dead,  and,  in  that  event,  a  distant 
cadet  of  the  house  would  succeed  to  the 
Marldons. 

The  old  knight  was  thin  and  grey,  with  a  high 


THE    SHERATON    CABINET.  51 

Roman  nose,  tull  moustache  and  whiskers,  and 
bright  blue  eyes.  He  carried  himself  uprightly 
for  all  his  seventy  years,  endeavoured  to  hide  his 
private  sorrows  under  a  demeanour  much  more 
impassive  than  the  character  beneath  it  —  was 
just  in  his  own  conceit,  vindictive  in  reality, 
and  very  weak  of  will.  The  egotism  of  Sir 
Archer,  together  with  his  vanity  and  pride  of 
descent,  made  him  morbidly  quick  to  see  and 
to  resent  any  manner  of  slight.  An  offence 
against  himself,  it  pleased  him  to  regard  as  an 
evil  done  to  whole  generations  of  the  family. 
In  his  person  centred  the  accumulated  splen- 
dours of  his  house,  and  he  made  it  apparent 
in  his  very  manner  of  walking  that  he  owned 
the  ground  spread  under  his  feet.  Yet  the 
old  gentleman's  heart  was  soft ;  there  were, 
indeed,  wells  of  tenderness  within  him ;  but 
there  lived  not  one  among  his  friends  capable 
of  lowering  any  bucket  of  sympathy  to  reach 
them.  Like  many  vain  people,  he  was  ex- 
tremely good-natured,  and  neither  Upper  nor 
Lower  Marldon  had  reason  to  complain  of 
his    generosity.       As    a    landlord,    he    was    easy 


52  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

—  as  a  master,  liberal;  yet  liberty  of  thought 
he  denied  to  those  who  served  him,  and  wit- 
tingly would  have  none  who  boasted  Liberal 
principles  in  his  employ.  Love  in  his  green 
youth  had,  indeed,  shaken  this  peacock  man, 
and  sent  his  pride  down  the  wind  for  a  season  ; 
but  though  near  half  a  century  divided  the  pres- 
ent from  a  woman's  refusal  to  wed  with  him, 
he  had  never  forgotten  or  forgiven  the  affront. 
Now  his  anger  acted  passively,  as  in  nature 
bound,  after  such  stretch  of  time ;  but  the 
fancied  wrong  had  petrified  into  a  sort  of 
eternal  grievance,  and  the  Squire's  eyes  and 
mouth  hardened  at  sight  of  any  Gilbert,  even 
as  they  did  now  in  presence  of  Richard.  That 
a  woman,  who  might  have  been  the  mother 
of  his  children,  should  have  chosen  another 
husband  still  amazed  him  when  he  thought 
upon  it ;  his  eyes  had  taken  the  astonishment 
into  their  expression  and  never  wholly  lost  it 
again.  But  the  house  of  his  enemy  remained, 
and  he  reflected  with  bitterness  upon  his  own 
heir,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  young  farmer. 
Where   the   hope    of  the    Baskervilles    might  be 


THE    SHERATON    CABINET.  53 

—  whether  in  the  land  of  the  living  or  long 
since  departed  from  it  —  no  man  could  say 
with  certainty.  The  father,  indeed,  had  quite 
decided  that  his  son  was  dead. 

Beside  half  a  dozen  old  friends,  there  was 
but  one  living  woman  who  called  Sir  Archer 
Baskerville  by  his  Christian  name ;  and  now 
he  stood  before  her  and  shook  her  by  the 
hand. 

"A  very  good-morning  to  you,  foster- 
mother,"  he  said.  "  You're  looking  younger, 
I  declare.  There's  bloom  upon  your  cheek  for 
all  your  years." 

Mrs.  Hatherley's  eyes  twinkled.  She  loved 
to  hear  him  call  her  "  foster-mother,"  for  the 
word  woke  memories  of  vanished  springtime 
in   the  ancient  heart  of  her. 

"  Now  I  seem  you'm  at  your  auld  games, 
when  you  did  want  to  kindiddle  me  to  your 
way  o'  thinkin'.  Then  you  was  a  babby  an' 
I  was  a  mother  wi'  milk  enough  for  you  an' 
my  awn  both.  An'  you'd  come  around  me 
wi'out  words,  then,  so  easy  as  you  can  wi' 
speech    now.       You'd    coax    and    cuddle    mc    to 


54  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

your  way  o'  thinkin',  an'  you'm  the  same 
Archer  now  as  then.  Sit  down  an'  have  a 
tell,  theer's  a  dear  sawl.  Haven't  seed  'e  this 
longfiil   time." 

"  I  was  passing  and  had  a  mind  to  come 
in  and  see  you " 

"An'  the  cab'net  —  say  it  out.  You  knaw 
that's  wheer  your  thoughts  was  —  'pon  the  li'l 
cab'net  my  husband  gived  me,  what  he  bought 
to  the  Brixham  sale.  You've  broke  the  last 
commandment  oft  enough  awver  that  now, 
haven't  'e  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  he  admitted,  and  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  little  piece  of  Sheraton  furniture  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  amateur.  *'  I  do  want 
it,  and  you  know  there's  a  ten-pound  note 
waiting  for  you,  Thomasin,  when  you  like  to 
put  out  your  hand  for  it.  What's  the  value 
of  it  to  you  ?  A  stout  cupboard  would  answer 
your  purpose  as  well." 

"  No,  no ;  almost  the  last  thing  'tis  as  ever 
my  man  gived  me.  Must  keep  it;  but  won't 
be  much  longer.  Then,  when  my  sticks  be 
sold   for   Sib  —  for    young   folks    alius  want    new 


THE    SHERATON    CABINET.  55 

things  —  you'll  be  able  to  pick  it  up  for  a 
sovereign,   1   daresay." 

"  Don't  talk  about  that.  You're  good  for 
years,  and  I  hope,  seeing  you'll  not  part  with 
it,  that  I  shall  have  to  wait  a  very  long  time 
for  the  cabinet." 

"  Look  here.  Sir  Archer,"  she  said.  "  I'll 
leave  it  to  'e  under  my  will  if  you'll  tackle 
that  auld  fox-hunter.  Baring,  'bout  the  bit  o' 
ground  I  wants  to  bide  in  when  I'm  buried. 
'Tis  a  lew  corner  wheer  the  western  light  comes 
of  an  evenin',  an'  he  won't  promise  me  I  may 
have  it.  It's  just  his  ugly  jealousy  'cause  I 
give  ear  to   Pastor   Newte  'stead  of  him." 

The  Squire  frowned.  Newte  and  all  his 
kind  were  evil  things  in   the  eyes  of  Sir  Archer. 

"You're  too  old  to  be  so  silly,"  he  said. 
"  Come  back  to  the  church.  You,  a  cjuid  nunc 
at  your  time  of  life  !  Isn't  the  old  Bible  good 
enough   for  you  ?  " 

"  Ess,  my  dear.  An'  Baring's  drove  me  out 
of  St.  John's  for  that  very  reason.  Hell's  cold! 
Theer's  a  fiat  atheist  for  'e  !  So  we'm  out  — 
him  an'  me  —  'cause   I    left  church    right  in   the 


56  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

middle  of  his  nonsense ;  an'  the  man  will 
revenge  himself  an*  bury  me  down-long  wheer 
that  trollop,  Sally  Vosper,  be  buried,  an'  wheer 
the  children  come  through  the  hedge  an'  play 
knuckle-bones  on  they  flat  tombs.  I  knaw  he 
will,  if  vou   don't   exert   your    lawful    authority." 

"  You'll  lie  where  all  who  have  been  true  to 
the  Baskervilles  have  lain  —  within  our  own 
portion  of  the  churchyard,"  declared  the  knight. 
''  And  as  for  this  cabinet,  since  you're  so  deter- 
mined, I  must  wait.  But  1  will  buy  the  thing 
when  the  time  comes,  and  your  pretty  grand- 
daughter shall  not  think  I  paid  too  little  either." 

"  Pretty  she  is,"  admitted  the  old  woman ; 
"an',  what's  a  delight  to  me,  her  eyes  be  real 
Baskerville  blue.  'Tis  most  presumptuous  in 
a  Marldon  maiden  to  have  eyes  that  colour; 
yet  hers  be,  an'  her  hadn't  no  choice  in  the 
matter,  so  you've  not  got  any  call  to  blame 
her." 

The  Squire  declared  imitation  to  be  a  worthy 
form  of  flattery. 

"  Yet,"  he  said,  "  'tis  a  rare  shade,  and  I 
must  look  at  Sibella  closer  when   next  we  meet. 


THE   SHERATON    CABINET.  57 

That  she  was  the  prettiest  voung  woman  in 
Lower   Marldon   I   knew." 

"An'  the  daps  o'  me  at  her  age,"  said  Gam- 
mer Hatherlev  ;  "  but  that  was  afore  vour  time. 
I'd  turned  forty  afore  you  looked  at  a  female 
understanding!  y." 

"  I  remember  vou  comely  enough  all  the 
same,"  declared  Sir  Archer.  "  Your  generation 
was  made  of  better  stuff  than  the  present  one. 
You  old   Marldon  women  wear  so  well." 

"  We'm  gude  all  through  —  so  healthy  an' 
sound  an'  sweet  as  the  red  airth  we'm  sprung 
from,"  said  Mrs.  Hatherley.  "  Women  an' 
apples  was  alius  the  pride  o'  Lower  Marldon. 
Range  your  thought  awver  the  place  an'  you'll 
see  how  true  'tis.  If  you'd  drink  the  cider 
squeezed  out  o'  your  own  soil  instead  o'  trashy 
furrin  grape  wine,  as  curdles  in  a  English  belly, 
like  their  lingo  on  a  English  ear,  you'd  be  more 
English  in  your  way  of  thinkin',  no  doubt." 

"  I'm  counted  too  English  already  by  those 
who  don't  fear  to  tell  me  their  minds,"  he  said. 
"  But  I'll  ponder  your  advice,  Thomasin." 

"  Do,"  she    answered.      "  You    may  laugh    at 


58  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

auld  cider  an'  auld  women,  but  both  do  more 
gude  than  harm  in  the  world,  mostly  'cause 
they've  gathered  up  the  fat  of  age  an'  the  wis- 
dom of  time,  an'  Nature  works  to  rnellowness 
in  'em.  That  is  if  they  comes  o'  gude  stock 
an'   ban't  ower-ripe." 

Sibella  entered  at  this  moment,  curtsied  to 
the  Squire,  and  was  about  to  disappear  when  he 
stopped   her. 

"  Let  me  look  into  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  he 
begged.  "  What  a  blush  !  Baskerville  blue 
sure  enough !  Your  mother  was  obviously  an 
Englishwoman,  Sibella.  You  have  that  great 
cause  of  satisfaction.  You  may  thank  God  that, 
though  your  father  roamed  the  earth,  he  knew 
it  behoved  him   to  marry  one  of  his  own  race." 

He  patted  her  on  the  head,  bid  Mrs.  Hath- 
erley  "  good-morning,"  and  soon  trotted  away, 
baffled  of  the  cabinet,  yet  in  no  ill  humour; 
for  his  ancient  nurse  always  served  to  soothe 
the  man's  natural  acerbity  and  appeal  to  his 
scanty  sense  of  humour. 

As  for  the  Sheraton  cabinet,  it  was  only  a 
question  of  time. 


CHAPTER    V. 

AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    CONSCIENCE. 

MR.  ALPHEUS  NEWTE  was  sorely 
troubled,  for  he  had  surprised  Provi- 
dence on  the  very  brink  of  an  indiscreet 
action,  and  it  grew  daily  a  more  difficult  question 
to  decide  whether  he  should  frustrate  Providence 
or  permit  matters  to  take  their  course.  As  a 
preliminary  step  he  had  agreed  to  Farmer  Clo- 
berry's  proposal  and  entered  upon  Sunday  duty 
in  the  farm  building  at  Upper  Marldon.  This 
business  anchored  him  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Indeed  he  had  taken  two  rooms  at  a  cottage  near 
Compton  Castle,  and  his  visits  to  that  ancient 
pile  were  frequent  enough  to  satisfy  even  Gam- 
mer  Hatherley. 

The  matter  troubling  Mr.  Newte  was  financial, 
and  represented  by  Bank  of  England  notes  to  the 
value  of  a  thousand  pounds.  He  alone  of  men 
was  aware  that  this  sum  reposed  in  the  old 
cabinet ;  and  only  one  woman  also  knew  the  fact. 

59 


6o  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

The  heart  of  Alpheus  grew  warm  when  he 
thought  of  the  deHght  of  the  orphan  girl  ;  it 
grew  cold  again  when  he  considered  the  grave 
dangers  that  possession  of  such  a  sum  must  mean 
for  Sibella.  It  was  at  this  point  in  his  cogitations 
that  he  questioned  the  workings  of  Providence. 
Money,  though  the  root  of  all  evil,  must,  like 
certain  other  dangerous  roots,  be  allowed  a 
mighty  power  for  good  in  skilled  hands.  To  the 
untutored  mind  of  Sibella  Hatherley  a  thousand 
pounds  would  come  merely  as  an  idea.  She 
might  no  more  grasp  such  a  figure  than  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  miles  between  earth 
and  sun.  Alpheus  Newte,  on  the  contrary,  from 
his  half-century  of  experience,  was  able  very  ac- 
curately to  gauge  the  significance  of  four  figures. 
He  knew  how  much  good  it  would  be  possible 
to  do  with  the  money  and  also  how  much  it 
should  be  expected  to  fetch,  set  out  at  interest. 
He  understood  how  diflicult  it  was  to  acquire  a 
thousand  pounds,  and  he  realised  keenly  all  the 
temptations  that  such  a  sum  might  be  expected 
to  offer  to  an  uncultured  maiden.  In  his  mind's 
eve  he  saw  adventurers  without  shame  or  scruple 


AN   AFFAIR    OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      6i 

seeking  for  the  hand  of  Sibella,  and  he  feared  that 
possession  of  this  fortune  was  only  too  likely  to 
come  between  her  and  an  honest  man's  love. 
He  took  the  matter  very  seriously  to  heart, 
being  a  conscientious  soul  where  responsibility 
was  concerned.  Finally  he  determined  to  put 
Sibella's  sagacity  to  the  proof  So  much  must 
depend  upon  that  in  the  future.  It  was  his 
earnest  ambition  to  stand  between  her  and  the 
world  —  to  be  something  more  than  a  mere 
friend.  This  he  desired  solely  for  love  of  her 
old  grandmother.  There  was  a  course  open,  the 
which,  if  pursued,  would  enable  Mrs.  Hatherley 
to  close  her  eyes  in  peace.  It  involved  some 
sacrifice  upon  the  part  of  Alpheus,  but  he  was 
not  the  man  to  shrink  from  the  path  of  duty. 
The  sequel  rested  with  old  Thomasin's  grand- 
daughter; so  Mr.  Newte  determined  to  approach 
her  and  satisfy  himself  whether  her  intellect  was 
equal  to  the  unassisted  control  of  a  thousand 
pounds. 

"  She'm  somewheers  in  the  castle,  no  doubt," 
said  Mrs.  Hatherley,  when  her  friend  enquired 
concerning  the  girl,  after  a  pleasant  hour  with  the 


62  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Bible  on  a  long  evening  in  July.  "  You'll  find 
her  if  you  look  around.  An'  I'm  sure  I  wish, 
'stead  of  tempting  her  with  your  trinkets,  you'd 
try  an'  get  her  into  a  more  sober  way  o'  thought. 
She'm  light-minded  even  for  eighteen." 

Mr.  Newte  departed  to  roam  the  ruin.  The 
prospect  of  discovering  Sibella  alone  in  some 
secluded  chamber  of  the  old  castle  was  good  to 
him,  and  among  the  many  hidden  holes  and 
corners  he  pictured  her,  perhaps  sitting  at  some 
moonlit  window,  whose  brow  was  fringed  with 
ragged  ivy ;  perhaps  wandering  in  the  green 
courtyard,  or  dreaming  alone  under  the  hushed 
orchards  without  the  castle  walls. 

But  it  was  at  the  chapel  he  found  her,  and  in 
no  pensive  mood  as  it  seemed.  He  passed  out 
of  the  great  main  apartment  by  a  door  that 
opened  into  the  old  oratory  of  the  Gilberts,  and 
as  he  did  so.  Sib  entered  briskly  by  another  way. 
Indeed  she  came  light-footed  down  a  ladder 
which  led  to  the  priest's  chamber  above — a  room 
whose  ceiling  had  vanished,  and  which  was  now 
only  shut  in  by  slares  of  the  main  roof.  For 
convenience  of  sight-seers  the  ladder  stood,  and 


AN    AFFAIR   OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      63 

other  mode  of  ingress  to  the  ruined  apartment 
there  was  none. 

Sibella,  expecting  another  visitor,  felt  glad  that 
her  emotions  did  not  appear  in  the  gloom.  Only 
bars  of  silver  stretched  across  the  little  chapel 
and  touched  a  rough  wooden  form  that  extended 
under  the  eastern  window,  where  once  an  altar 
stood. 

"Sit  down,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Newte.  "I 
came  to  seek  you ;  the  time  and  place  are 
fitting.  An  odour  of  sanctity  still  hangs  about 
these  mouldering  walls  —  or  should  do  so.  A 
very  beautiful  spot,  fit  for  whisperings  of  lovers, 
and  with  only   the  moon   to  see  us." 

But  to  be  alone  with  Mr.  Newte  in  moon- 
light was  not  agreeable  to  Sibella.  She  did 
not  like  the  man  over-much,  and  just  now 
quite  a  new  note  in  his  voice  struck  disagree- 
ably upon  her  ear.  There  was  an  oily  soft- 
ness about  it;  and  he  patted  her  arm  as  he 
spoke  —  a  liberty   that  she  resented. 

"What  d'you  want?"  she  asked,  sharply. 
"Be  quick,  because  I've  —  I've  got  an  ap- 
pointment." 


64  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Sihclla  had  been  peep- 
ing from  a  ruined  window  in  the  priest's  cham- 
ber for  Dick  Gilbert  when  Alpheus  interrupted 
her ;  and  she  had  supposed  that  it  was  Richard 
below  when  she  twinkled  so  quickly  down  the 
ladder. 

"  I  want  to  talk.  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing of  very  great  importance.  It  concerns 
your  welfare  in  this  world  as  well  as  the  next, 
Sibella." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  next,"  said  she. 
"  They  call  you  '  Pastor  Newte '  now,  but  I 
never  shall.  You're  Johnny  Fortnight  to  me 
always,  because  I  like  laughing  better  than  long 
faces." 

"  And  quite  right  too.  If  a  maid  doesn't 
laugh  at  eighteen,  when  shall  she  ?  Johnny 
Fortnight  I'll  be  to  little  Sibella  Hatherley. 
You  know  I'm  twins  —  twins  rolled  up  in  one 
skin.  Two  fairly  good  men,  as  men  go,  but 
different.  You  pay  your  money  and  you  take 
your  choice." 

Here,  by  some  curious  association  of  ideas, 
the  pastor  thought  of  Sibella's  thousand  pounds. 


AN    AFFAIR    OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      65 

"Then   I'd  have  you,  Johnny   Fortnight." 

"  So  you  shall,  my  pretty.  Let  me  be  your 
Johnny  for  ever  and  a  day.  Hale  and  hearty 
and  sound  as  a  nut,  and  not  an  hour  more 
than  forty-three.  You  little  blue-eyed  flower! 
I  can't  keep  it  in  a  minute  longer.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  soul ;  have  ever  since  you 
went  into  long  frocks.  And  you've  a  warm 
corner  in  your  heart  for  me.  Don't  say  '  No  !  ' 
I'm  not  blind.  Yet  I  couldn't  believe  my 
eyes  either,  to  think  the  most  beautiful  girl 
in  Devonshire,  or  anywhere,  felt  kind  to  me. 
Yes,  and  the  wisest  girl,  too.  Such  brains 
under  that  golden  mop  of  hair !  You  stare 
—  you  stare  and  sigh  as  if  all  the  ghosts  of 
all  the  Gilberts  were  coming  down  the  chimney." 

But  it  was  for  a  flesh-and-blood  Gilbert  that 
Sibella  sighed.  This  abrupt,  outrageous  pro- 
posal from  the  pedlar  did  not  even  flatter  her. 
First  she  felt  very  angry,  then  somewhat 
alarmed.  Such  cool  appropriation  took  her 
breath   away. 

"  It  has  come  as  a  shock  to  vou  :  vou  never 
looked  so  high,  dear  girl.      Yet,  here  has  Johnny 


66  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Fortnight  been  pining  and  whining,  and  wak- 
ing o'  nights,  and  weaving  rhymes  to  your 
shadow  for  months.  Why  did  I  come  here, 
d'you  think  ?  Why  did  I  undertake  these 
pastoral  duties  at  Upper  Marldon,  and  accept 
a  dwelHng-place  within  two  hundred  yards  of 
the  castle?  Need  I  tell  you,  my  life?  You've 
made  me  a  proud  man  to-night.  You've  put 
a  new  soul  into  me.  Not  a  word  !  The  moon- 
light shows  me  all  that  I  want  to  see.  Kiss 
your  Johnny  !  " 

But  the  moonlight  showed  something  more 
than  Sibella's  shrinking  form  as  the  pastor  ad- 
vanced  to  caress   her. 

There  was  a  hagioscope  in  one  corner  of 
the  chapel,  a  squint,  through  which  pious  eyes 
in  the  old  time  had  witnessed  the  elevation  of 
the  Host  before  the  altar.  Now  a  long  shin- 
ing tube  protruded  through  it,  and  Mr.  Newte, 
familiar  with  most  common  objects,  knew  the 
apparition  for  a  gun-barrel.  Sibella  darted  away 
to  the  door  ;  her  lover  sat  where  once  the  altar 
stood.  Moonlight  was  on  his  round  face  and 
the  gun-barrel  in  a  line  with  his  round  stomach. 


AN   AFFAIR   OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      67 

"  Move  a  yard,  Johnny  Fortnight,  and  I'll 
fire  at  your  fat  legs,"  cried  Dick,  through  the 
hagioscope. 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  Richard  Gilbert,"  said 
Mr.  Newte,  with  considerable  self-control.  "  I 
shall  be  interested  to  know  what  Richard  Gil- 
bert is  doing  in  these  ancestral  halls  after 
10.30   P.M.  ?     And  gun   in   hand,  too." 

"That's  mv  business.  Lucky  I  was  here, 
anyway.      Go  in,   Sib  ;   I'll  settle  with   him." 

Sibella  fled,  and  Mr.  Newte  kept  his  eye 
on   the  gun-barrel. 

"  You're  doing  a  dangerous  thing,  young 
man,"   he  said. 

"  And  you  a  worse.  Tou  !  An  old  jackdaw 
like  you  to  dare  ask  her  that." 

"  A  man  is  as  old  as  he  feels,  Richard.  I 
have   yet  to  know  by  what   right   you   presume 

to  .      However,   we   won't  argue.      Kindly 

take  that  weapon  off  my  person,  or  it  will  be 
much  the  worse  for  you." 

"  There's  more  in  this  than  I  can  see,"  said 
Dick  in  high  anger.  "  You're  up  to  some 
rascality.     And     calmly    to    tell    her    she    loved 


68  THK    (iOOI)    RKI)    KARTH. 

you  !  I'd  h:ive  forgiven  :ill  the  rest.  How  the 
deuce  could  a  girl  hke  Sibella  love  a  bag  of 
lard?" 

"  This  isn't  the  time  or  place  for  riddles," 
answered  Johnny  P'ortnight.  "  If  the  constable 
on  his  rounds  hears  you  —  as  well  he  may  — 
vou  will  soon  find  yourself  in  a  verv  painful 
position.  Now  move  that  gun,  or,  I  repeat, 
it  will   be   the   worse  for  you." 

"  Don't  threaten  me,  you  old  fool  !  Say  a 
word  against  me  and  you'll  be  ruined  yourself 
—  you  and  your  barn  at  Upper  Marldon  and 
all   your  humbug  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  Richard.  You  are  power- 
less. You  can  only  say  that  you  overheard  me 
offer  a  proposal  of  marriage.  There  is  neither 
disgrace  nor  ignominy  attaching  to  a  proposal 
of  marriage.  But  just  consider  what  1  can  say. 
Here  I  sit  with  vour  gun-barrel  pointing  at  my 
vitals.  You  have  threatened  murder  ;  you  have 
broken  into  Compton  Castle  by  night ;  you 
have  compromised  Sibella  Hatherlev  shame- 
fully;   you   have " 

"  That's  enough,"   said    Richard,  "  I    see   how 


AN   AFFAIR   OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      69 

it  is.  You're  dangerous.  I  can't  let  vou  be 
at  large  till  I  think  about  this.  Is  your  word 
worth  anything  ?      I   suppose  not." 

"Nothing  to  you,  Richard,  for  I  shouldn't 
give  it.  At  last  you  see  now  what  a  fool's  trick 
you  have  played.  That's  a  blessing,  perhaps. 
Now  remove  that  gun  and  let  me  go.  You'd 
better  come  with  me.  As  to  the  future,  that's 
for  me  to  decide,  not  you." 

"I  don't  know,"  retorted  Dick.  "Till  to- 
morrow I'll  decide  it  anyway.  A  chap  like 
you  is  safer  in  a  cage.  To  dare  to  say  Sibella 
loved  you  !  Why  didn't  you  offer  marriage  to 
her  grandmother?  No;  until  to-morrow  I'll 
have  you  hard  and  fast,  unless  you'll  stand  a 
charge  of  bird-shot  in  your  legs.  Get  up  that 
ladder,  Johnny  !  " 

"  Never  !  " 

"Get  up,  or  I'll  drag  you  up  like  a  sack  of 
coals.     You   know   I   can." 

The  pastor  made  a  dart  for  the  main  door 
by  which  Sibella  had  retreated  ;  but  young  Gil- 
bert was  too  quick  for  him.  They  met  at  the 
exit,  and   in    five   minutes  poor  Alpheus   Newte 


70 


THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 


was  up  the  ladder,  in  that  haunt  of  bats  and 
spiders  known  as  the  priest's  chamber. 

"  There  you  can  bide  till  morning,"  said 
Richard.  "  I'll  be  here  by  five  o'clock  or 
earlier;  then  we'll  make  a  bargain.  You  can 
shout  if  you  like,  but  nobody  will  hear  you ; 
and  if  they  do  they'll  only  think  it's  an  owl 
that's  eaten  too  many   mice." 

He  removed  the  ladder  and  Mr.  Newte  was 
a  prisoner. 

"  One  moment  before  you  go,"  urged  the 
pastor.  "  It  is  never  wise  for  a  boy  to  make 
an  enemy  of  a  man,  and " 

"  I'm   not  a  boy." 

"  Well,  think  twice  before  you  leave  me  here. 
Honestly,  it  won't  pay  you  to  do  so.  If  Sibella 
loves  me " 

"Don't  say  it!"  roared  the  other  —  "or  if 
you  must  say  it,  say  it  to  night-birds  and  beetles. 
*  Loves  you  ! '      Loves  the  devil  !  " 

"  Finally,  I  may  mention  that  I  came  here 
without  supper,"  said  Mr.  Newte.  "You  don't 
propose  to  add  starvation  to  my  other  discom- 
forts,   do    you  ?       If   so,    that  will    be    the    last 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    CONSCIENCE.      71 

straw.  I  can  forgive  most  things,  but  not 
deliberate  physical  cruelty." 

"  Starving  a  bit  will  cool  you  down  and 
make  you  ashamed." 

Without  more  words  Gilbert  picked  up  his 
gun  and  retreated  as  he  had  come,  through  the 
orchards.  He  did  not  seek  his  sweetheart. 
He  was  in  a  flame  with  all  things,  and  even 
indignant  with  her  that  she  should  for  one 
instant  have  listened  to   Mr.  Newte. 

"  She  ought  to  have  screamed  out  loud  enough 
to  wake  the  dead  the  moment  such  a  worm  as 
that  said  the  word  '  love '  to  her,"  he  thought, 
with  a  panting  breast. 

Dick  did  not  sleep  until  dawn  already  glim- 
mered over  the  high  lands  east  of  Orchard 
Farm.  Then  he  slumbered  heavily,  and  only 
woke  at  six.  Instantly  he  repaired  to  Comp- 
ton.  But  on  entering  the  chapel,  now  alive 
with  choral  service  of  birds,  he  found  that  the 
ladder  was  in  its  place  and  his  prisoner  had  fled. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  may  be  recorded  that 
Alpheus  spent  no  miserable  vigil  in  the  ruin, 
—  for  upon   Richard's  stormy  departure,  Sibella 


72  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

had  returned  to  the  chapel  and  righted  the 
wrong  done. 

Mr.  Newte's  eloquence  speedily  prevailed 
with  her.  He  painted  the  dreadful  danger  that 
young  Gilbert  ran,  yet  he  agreed  to  all  her 
stipulations ;  he  promised  to  take  no  step 
against  his  foe  if  she  restored  him  his  liberty ; 
and  he  solemnly  swore  that  he  would  never  pro- 
pose marriage  to  Sibella  again  as  long  as  he  lived. 

"  You  can't  be  two  men  at  once,"  she  told 
him  quite  seriously.  "  I  was  wrong.  You 
must  give  up  being  Johnny  Fortnight  for  ever- 
more if  it  makes  you  so  silly.  You're  Pastor 
Newte  now.  I  never  heard  anything  so  horrid 
as  your  proposal  to  me.  You  meant  it  kindly, 
but  it  was  horrid  ;  though,  of  course,  I'm  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  And  you'll  promise  not 
to  do  any  hurt  to  Dick,  or  say  you  met  him 
here  —  on   your  honour?" 

"If  I  cannot  save  your  person  —  by  which  I 
mean  marry  you,  Sibella,"  he  returned  loftily, 
from  his  seat  above  her  in  the  shattered  door- 
way of  the  priest's  chamber,  —  "I  will  save 
vour   soul.      Yes,  that    I    may  still    do.     You've 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    CONSCIENCE.      73 

no  sense  of  humour,  or  you  would  laugh  to 
see  me  here,  imprisoned  where  monkish  rascals 
brewed  their  devilries  in  the  old  days  by  night 
while  the  castle  slept.  Consider  how  my  Prot- 
estant spirit  chafes  at  being  caged  up  in  this 
popish  ruin.  However,  your  soul  must  be 
saved.  Put  the  ladder  in  its  place,  there's  a 
good  girl.  May  the  Lord  guide  my  steps 
down,  so  that  they  slip  not.  I  was  twenty-five 
years  of  age  when  I  offered  you  marriage  just 
now;  I'm  sixty  at  this  moment.  Such  changes 
may  a  single  tragic  hour  bring.  You've  disap- 
pointed me.  I'll  say  no  more.  I  had  a  pri- 
vate reason  for  making  trial  of  your  intelligence. 
Can  you  not  see  that  a  boy  who  points  guns 
at  people  without  provocation  must  be  an  utter 
failure  as  a  husband.''  But,  of  course  you  can't. 
Words  are  absolutely  thrown  away  at  a  moment 
like  this.  Get  the  ladder,  and  let  me  go  home 
—  with  a  sore  heart  and  a  bad  cold." 

She  obeyed,  and  the  pastor  departed  to  his 
cottage.  He  was  far  less  angry  than  might 
have  been  supposed,  and  made  an  excellent 
supper  before  retiring. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AN     AFFAIR    OF    THE     HEART. 

TEN  days  later  Sibella  and  Richard  met  by 
appointment  in  a  deep,  ivy-hung  lane 
above  Orchard  Farm  ;  and  from  thence 
they  climbed  together  upwards  where  the  great 
hills  billowed  above  the  village.  It  was  the 
time  when  orchard  trees  are  busy  between  the 
pageants  of  spring  and  autumn.  Under  miles 
of  sober  green,  young  fruit  was  swelling,  and 
only  Nature  and  the  farmer  knew  how  matters 
progressed.  Hay  had  been  garnered;  a  warm 
tint  already  touched  the  corn  ;  while,  scattered 
amidst  pasture  and  crops,  many  an  acre  stretched 
its  naked  bosom  to  the  sun  and  awaited  seed. 
Daily  the  ploughed  lands  grew  of  a  paler  tint 
as  their  moisture  dried. 

Half-way  to  his  destination  at  hilltop,  Gilbert 
met  a  dark  figure  and  knew  it  for  Johnny 
Fortnight.  This  day  his  secular  duties  called 
Mr.  Newte,  for   the  Bethel  at  Upper   Marldon, 

74 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  75 

albeit  in  a  condition  very  thriving,  by  no  means 
represented  a  settled  income  for  its  pastor  as 
yet.  However,  the  reformer  had  already  enjoyed 
one  stormy  interview  with  the  vicar  of  the 
parish  ;  and  this,  rightly,  he  deemed  a  sign  of 
progress. 

"  Well  met,"  said  the  worthy  man,  and  he 
beamed  upon  Dick  and  Sibella  as  though  inci- 
dents of  a  recent  night  were  already  lost  to 
memory.  "  So  you  are  taking  God's  good 
sunshine  together.  You  are  both  a  lesson  to 
all  of  us  to  share  the  blessings  of  this  world, 
each  with  his  neighbour.  And  what  greater 
blessing  than  a  pretty  girl  ?  I  see  by  your 
faces  that  you  have  not  quite  forgotten  an  even- 
ing now  buried  in  the  past.  But  let  me  beg 
of  you  to  do  so.  I  have,  myself.  Only  the 
petty  mind  finds  room  for  matters  inconvenient. 
You  must  forget,  and  I  will  forgive.  Bless 
you  both ;  and  let  the  spirit  in  which  I  take 
my  great  disappointment  be  a  sermon  to  you. 
I  meant  well.  My  heart  has  a  way  of  going 
out  to  the  young  and  the  beautiful  and  the 
unprotected.      I    did    not   understand    that    you 


76  THE    GOOD    RKD    EARTH. 

were  so  much  to  one  another,  or  I  should 
not  have  spoken.  There  —  the  greatness  of 
it !  Fancy  a  man  of  my  age  condescending 
to  explain  his  actions  to  two  children.  You're 
both  fatherless,  by  the  will  of  God.  Then 
I'll  be  vour  father.  Kiss  me,  Sibella  —  as  a 
daughter.      I   insist." 

Before  she  could  draw  back  he  had  kissed 
her  on  the  mouth  in  his  fatherly  way.  Richard, 
puzzled  and  ill  at  ease,  clenched  his  fist,  but 
stood   helpless  under  the  other's  oily  tongue. 

"  Go  your  ways  to  the  song  of  the  birds. 
'  In  the  spring  the  young  man's  fancy  lightly 
turns  to  thoughts  of  love.'  And  at  other  times 
also;  in  fact,  all  the  vear  round.  Next  Sun- 
day let  me  see  you  both  at  the  Gospel  Nest, 
my  little  house  of  prayer.  You  shall  hear 
things  set  out  in  an  allegory  that  will  do  your 
hearts  good.      And  that  reminds   me " 

He  opened  his  basket  and  showed  a  brooch, 
a  little   true-lovers'   knot  of  blue  enamel. 

"  Surely  that  seems  indicated  ?  You  were  go- 
ing to  the  "Windmill.  Don't  get  so  red,  Rich- 
ard.     Whv    shouldn't    you    go  ?     There,    under 


AN    AFFAIR    OF   THE    HEART. 


11 


heaven,  with  nothing  between  you  and  your 
Maker  on  His  Throne,  you  designed  to  ask 
this  maiden  to  be  your  wife.  And  why  not  ? 
You  think  I'm  a  wizard.  Go  along  with  you 
both !  Here's  the  brooch.  Matches  her  eyes 
—  such  forget-me-not  eyes  as  they  are.  She 
wouldn't  hear  love  from  me,  bless  her !  Yet 
I  had  some  pretty  things  to  say ;  but  'tisn't 
the  things  they  care  for,  only  the  voice  that 
says  'em.  Five  shillings  —  not  another  penny. 
So  the  brooch  is  half  a  gift  from  you  and 
half  from   me." 

He  shouldered  his  basket,  and  was  gone  in 
a  shower  of  words.  The  little  blue  brooch 
lay  in  Dick's  hand,  and  his  two  half-crowns 
were  in    Mr.  Newte's  pocket. 

"The  man's  made  of  quicksilver.  How  can 
anybody  take  him  seriously?"  grumbled  young 
Gilbert. 

"I  think  he  means  well,  if  he's  not  mad," 
declared   Sibella. 

"  He's  not  mad.  Fancy  knowing  I  was  going 
to  take  you  to  Windmill   Hill !  " 

She  blushed  and   looked   down. 


78  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"I'm   sure   1    didn't  know   it,  or  else " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  come  ?  Don't  say  that, 
Sib." 

The  place  alluded  to  had  some  special  fame 
in  this  neighbourhood.  Upon  its  summit  stood 
the  stump  of  an  ancient  mill,  and  here,  according 
to  tradition,  the  question  of  questions  was  put, 
generation  after  generation,  by  the  men  of  Marl- 
don  to  the  maids.  To  propose  marriage  save 
beneath  the  crest  of  this  round  ruin  was  to  court 
a  frosty   answer. 

"  Then  we  need  not  go  further,"  continued 
Richard.     "  D'you  want  to  turn,  Sibella  ?  " 

Such  an  unfair  question  took  poor  Sib's  breath 
away.  Her  cheeks  deepened  to  the  colour  of 
an  eglantine's  petals.  Here,  by  this  abrupt 
route,  was  she  faced  with  necessity  of  an  implicit 
"Yes"  or  "No."  She  felt  it  unfair,  almost 
dishonest,  certainly  not  worthy  of  Richard. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  the  view  from  Windmill 
Hill,"  she  said,  "  though  I  can  see  it  very 
well  without  you." 

"  But  I  can't  see  it  without  you,  Sib.  You'll 
let  me  come  at  least?" 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  79 

He  caught  one  string  of  her  sun-bonnet  and 
stayed  her  progress.  Then  she  held  out  her 
little  hand  to  him,  and  he  made  a  sound  of  joy 
and  walked  beside  her.  Any  formal  proposal  of 
marriage  under  the  circumstances  seemed  more 
than  necessary ;  yet  to  both  there  was  a  sort 
of  joy  in  knowing  beforehand  the  object  of 
their  little  pilgrimage.  Sib's  heart  beat  hard 
under  her  round  bosom,  and  a  mist  was  in 
her  eyes.  Dick's  voice  grew  unsteady ;  he 
gasped  once  or  twice,  then   kept  silence. 

Together  they  climbed  the  hill,  then  sat  down 
where  a  crumbling  cone  of  stone  stood  at  the 
top  —  sat  down  with  their  faces  turned  to  their 
homes  beneath. 

A  great  shoulder  of  the  grass-lands  concealed 
the  village,  where  it  lay  far  below,  and  swept  in 
vast  and  regular  undulations  worn  out  by  waters 
that  rolled  and  retreated  hence  before  the  birth 
of  man.  A  deep  valley  stretched  beneath,  and 
the  slopes  on  either  side  were  fertile  under  a 
mosaic  of  many-coloured  fields,  fringed  with 
great  elms,  bounded  by  lanes  and  hedges.  Farm- 
houses  dotted   the    expanse,  while   concourse  of 


8o  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

shining  stacks  stood  about  the  homesteads  and 
in  the  corners  of  meadows.  All  harmonies  of 
green  and  blue-green,  silver  of  shorn  grasses, 
and  pale  gold  of  ripening  grain,  were  spread 
forth  in  a  network  of  triangles  and  squares  and 
patterns  of  every  irregular  figure  imaginable. 
Unnumbered  orchards  filled  the  valleys  with 
sober  summer  green  ;  and  they  were  set  against 
red  earth  or  the  brightness  of  whitewashed  cots ; 
while  beyond  this  immediate  field  of  view,  sepa- 
rated therefrom  by  gentle  hill-crests  and  great 
woodlands,  dale  upon  dale  of  similar  character 
extended  and  faded  with  diminishing  perspective 
into  the  hazes  of  noon.  Distance  modified  the 
abrupt  changes  of  colour  under  the  various  culti- 
vation, and  the  soft  south  wind,  moist  with  long 
kissing  of  the  sea,  swept  all  and  brought  great 
hazes,  dewy  and  opaline,  that  washed  the  world 
with  liquid  light.  Nature  painted  with  sunshine, 
with  cloud-shadow,  with  her  proper  jewels  melted 
in  the  crucible  of  space  ;  and  the  foreground  of 
this  huge  picture,  though  it  seemed  to  sleep  and 
smile,  was  in  truth  a  huge  battlefield  —  a  chess- 
board whose  squares  were  meadow  and  orchard, 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  8i 

forest  and  fallow,  and  upon  which  fivescore  busy 
farmers  were  playing  the  game  of  life.  Beyond, 
to  the  dappled  sky,  there  rolled  upward  a  world 
apart,  raised  to  the  clouds,  stretching  gigantically 
along  to  its  southern  boundaries  by  Brent  Hill 
and  Eastern  Beacon,  and  breaking  into  stony 
peaks  and  precipices  where  Hey  Tor  towered 
with  Rippon  Tor  and  the  round  stone-capped 
beacon  of  Buckland.  Like  a  veil  lifted  against 
and  drawn  along  the  sky  the  vast,  dim  hills  of 
Dartmoor  rose,  and  shadowy  in  the  dips  between 
still  other  tors  ascended  above  wildernesses  of 
heath  and  stone  and  cradles  of  manv  rivers  in 
the  central  waste.  Here  and  there,  upon  the 
nearer  distance,  sun-flashes  told  of  glass ;  here 
and  there  some  hill  or  tumulus  fledged  with 
forest  appeared  against  background  of  scattered 
smoke;  while  the  cloud  shadows  drifted  slowly 
over  them,  and  the  wind  blew  gently  as  befitted 
a  scene  so  placid  to  the  eye.  The  grass  on  the 
ruin  waved ;  the  harvest  about  its  base  swayed 
and  rippled  over  the  steep  hill.  The  corn-tops 
were  a  golden  green  against  the  darker  stems  and 
foliage.     They  whispered  and  rubbed  delicately 


82  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

together,  and  made  the  hushed  music  of  waters 
flowing  far  away  ;  they  bent  in  unison,  and,  as 
floods  of  colourless  light  swept  over  their  heads, 
the  scarlet  of  poppies  appeared,  with  the  lavender 
of  gipsy  roses  and  the  golden  eye  of  a  corn- 
chrysanthemum  ;  even  as  waves  ebbing  about  an 
ocean-facing  rock  reveal  the  brightness  of  sub- 
merged weeds  at  every  throb. 

Here,  upon  this  eminence,  braced  by  winds 
from  sea  or  moor,  the  youngsters  of  the  parishes 
around  found  courage  to  put  the  question  of 
fate ;  here,  under  the  air  and  sunshine  or  within 
the  shelter  of  the  ruin,  many  a  good  man  had 
been  lifted  up  to  bliss  or  cast  into  temporary 
perdition.  Upon  the  rotting  inner  rind  of  the 
mill,  where  plaster  still  survived  in  patches  on 
the  conglomerate  of  which  the  tower  was  built, 
countless  initials,  scratched  or  written,  told  of 
happy  lovers.  Now,  peaceful,  silent,  and  usually 
deserted,  the  place  gave  rest  to  the  sparrow-hawk 
and  lonely  crow  by  day,  and  reflected  the  moon- 
beams by  night.  Flowers  picked  there  —  pim- 
pernels, wild  geraniums,  campions  —  still  reposed, 
hidden  within  the  pages  of  old  prayer-books  by 


AN    AFFAIR    OF   THE    HEART.  83 

maidens,  now  mothers.  There  was  not  a  girl 
wife-old  who  could  think  of  the  windmill  with- 
out quickening  of  heart-beats  ;  scarcely  a  Marl- 
don  woman  who  might  recall  the  spot  without 
a  smile  or  a  sigh.  There  the  great  west  wind 
had  toiled  full  many  a  year  to  make  man's 
bread  ;  now  its  labours  were  ended,  and  it  daw- 
dled on  the  hilltop  to  listen  to  the  ancient, 
eternal  vows  of  love. 

Aloft  the  lark  still  sang  and  the  breezes  bent 
the  corn.  Upon  the  hedge-bank  blackberries 
already  grew  red,  and  the  black  seedpods  of 
broom  cracked  crisply ;  then,  after  discharging 
their  harvest,  twisted  themselves  into  corkscrews. 

All  these  matters,  and  many  bevond  power 
of  telling  or  seeing,  were  mirrored  in  two  pairs 
of  eyes  ;  but  the  thoughts  of  boy  and  girl  had 
no  present  concern  with  hills  and  valleys  or  the 
habitations  of  men.  Richard  thought  of  a  thing 
then  invisible  to  him  —  the  church  tower,  where 
it  rose  in  a  cluster  of  roofs  that  marked  Higher 
Marldon.  He  remembered  his  father  sleeping 
there,  and  wondered  whether  it  would  be  seemly 
that  he  should  wed   his  joy  so   near   that  sacred 


84  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

dust.  Me  had  a  fear  that  to  be  married  within 
a  few  yards  of  his  parent's  grave  —  that  there 
to  take  the  whole  glory  of  lite,  in  shape  of 
Sibella,  might  argue  lack  of  respect.  Upon  that 
theme  he  determined  to  consult  his  mother. 
Then  another  thought  found  tongue  and  he 
spoke. 

"  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  I'd  hoped  so  much 
to  have  a  sort  of  right  in  your  welfare,  to  have 
a  little  of  it  rested  with  me.  You  know  there's 
a  secret  matter  that  your  grandmother  keeps 
hidden  from  everybody.  Father  knew  of  it ; 
she  trusted  him  like  the  rest  of  the  world  trusted 
him  ;  but  though  he  wanted  me  to  hear  the 
matter  when  he  died,  and  to  take  the  care  of  it 
off  Mrs.  Hatherley's  shoulders,  she  wouldn't 
hear  of  any  such  thing.  I  was  too  young  and 
green,  she  said  !      Perhaps  she  was  right." 

"  Never  was  a  wiser  man  than  you,  I'm  sure, 
Richard." 

"  No,  no  ;  'tis  a  terrible  drop  from  my  father 
to  me.  I  see  that  in  my  mother's  eyes.  Still 
your  secret  —  so  to  call  it  —  or  your  grand- 
mother's secret  about  you  —  it  is  in  somebody's 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  85 

keeping.  That  much  she  told  me;  but  wouldn't 
name  no  names.  Mr.  Joshua  Hatherley,  perhaps 
—  her  brother.  Yet  it  seems  strange  that  he  — 
a  mere  labourer  at  Orchard  Farm  —  should  be 
trusted  with  what  I,  the  master  of  the  place,  may 
not  hear." 

"  Great-uncle  Joshua  doesn't  know  anything. 
You  may  be  sure  of  that.  There's  small  love 
lost  between  him  and  granny.  The  old  man 
drinks,  you  know.  He's  a  little  bit  sour  because 
he's  lived  so  long  in  the  world  and  never  got 
more  than  two  shillings  a  day.  And  soon  he'll 
get  less,  so  he  says ;  that  is  when  he  grows  too 
old  to  do  a  man's  work.  That  haunts  him  and 
makes  him  drink  more  than  ever.  Yet,  poor 
old  dear,  I've  known  him  quite  kind  now  and 
again.  'Tis  a  shame  to  call  him  'Crab'  Hath- 
erley as  all  people  do." 

"You  can  tell  him  that  he  shall  never  have 
less  than  he  gets  now  if  you  like.  But  you  — 
you,  Sibella.  You  know  all  that's  in  me  to  say. 
My  fingers  have  pressed  it  into  vour  dear  little 
hands,  and  my  eyes  have  told  it  into  yours. 
Haven't  they  ?     I  know    they    have,    for    yours 


86  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

have  answered  them.  I've  said  it  every  way 
but  with  my  tongue;  and  with  that  too  —  when 
you  were  not  there  to  hear.  You're  the  whole 
world  to  me,  Sib.  Nothing  matters  but  you. 
Could  you  marry  me  some  day  ?  Oh,  do  say 
you  could!  I'll  be  the  best  husband  I  can. 
I'm  not  much  of  a  chap,  but  such  as  1  am " 

"You're  the  best,  dearest,  handsomest  man  — 
Oh,  whatever  am   I   saying  ? " 

"  Not  the  truth  ;  but  I  love  to  hear  you  say 
it,  all  the  same.  God  bless  my  lass,  and  make 
me  good  enough  for  her;    and  —  and " 

His  arms  were  round  her  where  they  sat  to- 
gether. He  forgot  his  strength  until  she  cried 
out  to  him  :  — 

"  Dick  !  Dick  !  Don't !  You're  squeezing  me 
to  death,  and  all  the  birds  see  us.  I'll  never  be 
able  to  listen  to  a  lark  again  without  blushing." 

Richard  laughed. 

"  Hark  at  him  !  He's  got  a  wife  down  in  the 
grass.  He  knows.  He  can  tell  all  he  feels  to 
her.  He  can  make  her  little  heart  glad  where 
she  sits  on  the  nest.  If  I  could  talk  like  he 
sings,  then   I'd  make  you  love  me." 


AN   AFFAIR    OF   THE    HEART.  87 

"You  know  right  well  I  do  love  you.  Hug 
me  again,  softly.  Oh,  Dick,  to  think  that  in  all 
this  great  world  you  —  you  were  sent  to  me ! 
Just  the   only,   only    man   of  all." 

"And  Mr.  Newte  was  sent." 

"Never!     He  came." 

"  Sent  about  his  business.  I  feel  I  ought  to 
thrash  him  now,  whenever  I  think  of  it.  How 
he  dared  !  " 

"  You  dared  ;  how  thankful  I  am  you  did." 

"I'm  different  —  not  worthy  of  you,  sweet- 
heart; but  a  solid  man,  anyway,  with  a  farm. 
All  his  fortune's  on  his  back." 

"And  on  his  tongue.  But  why  should  he 
have  wanted  to  marry  me  .^  —  why  should  any- 
body, for  that  matter  ^.  " 

"  Everybody  in  the  world  might.  That's  what 
makes  me  lost  with  wonder  to  think  I've  got 
you. 

A  bell  tolled  from  Marldon,  and  the  sound 
reached  them   faintly. 

"  When  will  they  ring  for  us.  Sib  ?  When  will 
you  marry  me,  my  pretty  ?  " 

"Oh,     I     can't    think,     Dick  —  ages     hence! 


88  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

There's  grannv ;  1  won't  leave  her  while  she 
lives.  You  must  wait.  Why,  I'm  only  eigh- 
teen, and  you  —  how  old  ?  —  twenty-eight,  or 
some  such  absurd  age." 

Richard  made  a  face. 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  he  said.  "  Sibell? 
Hatherley  and  Richard  Gilbert  will  be  asked  out 
in  church  this  year,  or   I'm   no  prophet." 

"You  must  listen  to  your  mother  —  she's  so 
wise." 

"She  is  wise  —  as  wise  in  silence  as  words.  I 
must  tell  her  of  this  great  news.  Where  did 
that  Newte  kiss  you,  Sib  ^  Why  the  deuce 
didn't  I  smash  him?  One  thing  I  swear:  I'll 
never  kiss  you  on  the  same  spot  —  never." 

"  You  have,  sweetheart." 

"  Then  he  kissed  your  lips  —  your  very  lips  !  " 

"  Forgive  him  ;  he's  so  silly  and  funny." 

"  A  kiss  from  you  and  five  shillings  from' 
me. 

"  Where's  the  brooch  ?  Mayn't  I  have  it  ?  or 
was  it  for  somebody  else  ^  " 

"  Sib  !   how  can  you,  at  a  moment  like  this  ?  " 

He  fastened  the   trinket  to   her  collar,  kissed 


AN   AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  89 

her  again,  felt  his  hands  full  of  her  soft,  bright 
hair ;  then  turned  away  from  her  for  a  moment 
and  lay  prone  with  his  face  on  the  grass.  The 
greatest,  purest  joy  that  he  had  known  warmed 
his  being,  and  the  heart  of  him  beat  out  a  word- 
less praise  to  the  Maker  of  the  round  earth  for 
this  abundant  bliss.  He  felt  his  cup  of  happi- 
ness was  brimming ;  for  love  of  Sib  he  loved  all 
other  things,  to  the  least  small  insect  creeping 
on  the  turf  He  echoed  the  joy  of  the  summer 
noon,  moved  his  weight  from  a  daisy  for  the  girl's 
sake,  turned,  smiled  up  at  the  sun  in  heaven,  felt 
the  glory  of  the  light  and  the  glory  of  his  joy, 
like  one  tide  of  great  blended  rivers  surging  over 
his  soul  and  drowning  him  in  ecstasy.  He  could 
not  live  long  away  from  the  touch  of  her ;  so  he 
stretched  out  his  hand,  and  she  saw  it  without 
turning  and  clasped  it.  Then  she  sat,  as  before, 
silent,  with  the  blue  distance  in  her  blue  eyes,  her 
face  very  calm  and' placid,  clothed  in  soft  content- 
ment, her  lips  upon  the  brink  of  smiling,  her 
dimples  waiting  to  laugh  into  life. 

The    great    moment    passed.       Then    Richard 
arose,  lifted  his  lady  to  her  feet,  and,  going  by  a 


90  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

field-path,  walked  beside  her  over  the  broad  hills 
to  the  valley  below. 

At  Orchard  Farm  he  left  her,  and  soon  stood 
before  his  mother,  where  she  passed  alone  under 
the  apple-trees  —  a  tall,  grey-eyed  woman  in  the 
soft  autumn-time  of  great  beauty  now  passing 
away.  With  a  sort  of  stateliness  she  moved 
slowly  beneath  the  long  avenues.  Sometimes  she 
stopped  to  scan  a  tree.  They  were  all  known  to 
her,  with  their  histories  and  their  virtues.  A 
gentle  satisfaction  filled  her  face  at  sight  of  patri- 
archs who  had  done  their  part  nobly  for  twenty 
years,  and  the  young  trees  in  youthful  pride  of 
their  first  fruits  pleased  her  no  less.  To  Mary 
Gilbert  the  orchard  was  a  home  of  memories  and 
human  interests  knit  up  with  the  springtime  of 
her  life.  In  that  place  the  old  trees  had  been 
planted  by  her  husband,  the  saplings  by  her  son. 
There  was  the  'quarrender '  she  herself  had  set  in 
its  place  upon  the  day  of  her  home-coming  as  a 
bride ;  there  was  the  brown  russet,  now  a  stout 
tree,  that  his  father  had  planted  the  day  after 
Richard's  birth.  Her  husband  it  was  who  had 
planned  these  rows  of  grey  stems  ;  his  eyes   had 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    HEART.  91 

seen  the  flowers  that  went  before  the  present 
harvest.  It  did  honour  to  him  and  promised 
bravely.  To  the  woman  these  cool  glades  of 
green  had  always  been  the  first  joy  of  the  farm. 
Others  worked  in  the  dairy  or  the  great  herb- 
garden,  where  peas  and  gooseberries  came  as  early 
as  anywhere  upon  the  country-side ;  but  her 
special  care  and  pride  through  a  quarter  of  a 
century  had  been  the  orchard.  It  was  the  home 
of  her  gladness  and  sorrow.  The  trees  had 
watched  her  mother-joy  with  Richard  at  her 
breast ;  they-  had  seen  her  grief  when  her 
daughter  died ;  their  vanished  splendour  of 
Spring  had  felt  her  tears  —  a  rain  from  her  heart 
known  only  to  those  bygone  petals  on  a  bygone 
night. 

"  Mother,"  said  Dick,  "  mother,  I've  been  to 
Windmill  Hill  with  Sib  !  " 

She  nodded,  and  looked  at  her  son  with  a 
strange  expression ;  then  she  smiled,  and  held 
out  her  hands  to  him. 

"  Oh,  mother  dear !    say   you're  content." 

She  strained  one  arm  round  him  and  so 
remained,    with    her    cheek    against    his,    gazing 


92  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

forward  into  time.  She  did  not  see  the  new 
mistress  at  Orchard  Farm ;  she  did  not  note 
her  own  power  waning  and  the  old  order  chang- 
ing under  the  young  rule.  These  thoughts,  had 
they  risen,  must  have  left  her  mind  unclouded. 
She  only  felt  the  first  pang  when  a  son's  heart 
is  riven  and  the  woman  has  dawned  who  hence- 
forth will   probably   have  the  larger  part  of  it. 

"  God  give  you  joy  of  the  maid,  Richard, 
and  bless  you  and  her,  my  son,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  Go  in  now  and  eat  your  meat,  and 
leave  me  here  to  think." 

He  kissed  her  and  went  to  the  house ;  then 
she  lifted  her  voice  and  called  him  gently 
back.  He  returned  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 
They  were  eyes  that  he  understood,  for  they 
spoke  oftener  to  him  than  her  tongue.  Now 
their  dumb  question  went  to  his  heart  and 
made  it  almost  sad. 

"  Dear,  dear  mother,  you're  frighted  for  me, 
that  I'll  change  —  change  to  you!  Oh,  don't 
you  know  me  better  ?  You  do  in  your  heart. 
Your  heart's  not  afraid.  Sib  loves  you  only 
less  than   I  do." 


AN    AFFAIR    OF   THE    HEART.  93 

Then  he  left  her,  and  she,  moving  again  till 
he  was  out  of  sight,  presently  sat  down  and 
scanned  a  spot  where  an  ancient  tree,  though 
blown  flat,  still  responded  to  Nature's  call,  and 
with  each  twig  upturned  to  the  sun  made 
brave  show  of  fruit, 

,  "  Here  shall  the  girl  plant  on  the  day  of 
her  home-coming,  if  it  chances  at  the  right 
season  of  the  year,"  she  thought.  "  Here 
her  own  sapling  shall  stand  betwixt  old,  wise 
bearers  that  have  seen  the  whole  life  of  the 
orchard,  and  knew  Dick's  father  when  he  was 
a  lad.  So  the  young  thing  will  arise  in  good 
company." 

She  nodded  to  herself  at  this  reflection.  It 
was  her  manner  of  thought  to  impart  a  sort 
of  personality  to  the  apple-trees,  and  she  felt 
their  moods  a  little.  Their  spring  delights  were 
known  to  her;  their  summer  cares  she  shared; 
she  moved,  like  Pomorum  Patrona  herself,  amid 
the  red  and  gold  of  autumn ;  and  in  winter- 
time surveyed  with  understanding  the  misty 
traceries  of  grey  and  crooked  boughs.  Their 
shadows   on   the   snow   wrote    messages    to   her ; 


94  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

she  had  entered  into  their  mute  being  at  time 
of  tempests  ;  had  seen  the  lightning  paint  their 
shapes ;  had  witnessed  them  through  nightly 
silences,  and  gazed  upon  them  *  branch-charmed 
by   the  earnest  stars.' 


CHAPTER   VII. 

OLD    THOMASIN     PASSES. 

THE  indignation  of  Sir  Archer  Basker- 
ville,  when  he  heard  one  morning  that 
the  man  familiarly  known  as  Johnny 
Fortnight  had  dared  to  call  upon  him,  was  very 
considerable.  At  first  he  suspected  the  pedlar 
proposed  to  barter;  but  this  was  not  so.  In  his 
capacity  of  religious  leader,  Mr.  Newte  now  ap- 
proached the  lord  of  the  land.  This,  as  it  hap- 
pened, was  unfortunate,  for  already  Parson  Baring 
had  laid  his  grievances  at  the  Squire's  feet,  and 
the  problem  of  ousting  Mr.  Newte  from  Farmer 
Cloberry's  barn  happened  to  be  in  the  knight's 
mind  when  Alpheus  called  upon  him. 

Entering  from  his  garden,  he  found  the  vis- 
itor with  his  eyes  roaming  over  well-filled  book- 
shelves. Mr.  Newte  did  not  offer  to  shake 
hands.  He  knew  better  than  that,  and  merely 
bowed  with  a  show  of  the  greatest  deference. 

"  What  d'you  want?  "  asked  the  Squire  grufily. 
95 


96  IHE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"Two  minutes  of  your  valuable  time,  Sir 
Archer.  You  have  but  to  say  *  Do  this,'  and 
it  is  done.  There's  a  refreshing  smack  of 
feudal  days  about  the  Marldons.  That  is  what 
attracted  me  to  them.  This  cant  concerning 
liberty  I  preach  against  every  Sunday.  No  man 
is  free,  not  even  the  Lord's  anointed,  as  you 
are  doubtless  aware,  Sir  Archer.  In  the  Second 
Book  of  Kings  we " 

"  1  don't  want  you  to  preach  here,  sir. 
What's  your  business  ?     Come  to  it,  please." 

"Briefly,  then,  one  of  my   parishioners " 

'^  Tour  parishioners  !  "  thundered  out  the  Squire. 
"Who  the  devil!  What  the  deuce!  2^our  pa- 
rishioners! How  dare  you  stand  here  —  how 
dare  you  stand  here  and  talk  about  your  parish- 
ioners ?  You've  insulted  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish  and  apparently  reduced  the  man  to  mere 
indignant  pulp,  because  he's  only  got  a  sports- 
man's brains  and  can't  live  with  your  oily 
tongue.  But  you  shall  not  do  the  same  with 
me,  that  I  promise  you.  You're  a  rogue  and 
a  vagabond.  I'd  have  you  whipped  out  of  the 
parish  if  I   could." 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  97 

"  I  love  a  man  of  fire,"  said  Mr.  Newte, 
rubbing  his  hands  gently.  "  My  soul  goes  out 
to  a  scholar  who  can  handle  his  own  language 
in  this  way.  You're  worth  fifty  thousand  of 
your  parson.  Since  you  resent  the  word,  I'm 
sorry  I  used  it.  What  I  should  have  said  is, 
that  an  ancient  woman  not  unknown  to  you  — 
one,  indeed,  who  was  privileged  in  her  time  of 
sap  and  fruition " 

"  For  God's  sake,  be  short !  I  hate  talk. 
Tell  me  what  you  want,  and  go.  I  don't  like 
to  think  that  you   have  been  in   my   house." 

"  This  manly  frankness  makes  it  impossible 
for  me  to  be  angry.  You're  one  of  the  grand 
old  school,  Sir  Archer.  Such  men  have  made 
this  country  what  it  is.  Would  to  God  —  I 
say  it  reverentlv  —  that  our  politicians  would 
speak  to  France  and  to  Russia  as  you  speak  to 
me.  Well,  it  is  dear  old  Gammer  Hatherley, 
of  Compton  Castle.  A  good  woman, — a  woman 
who  has  justified  her  existence  by  giving  her 
breast  to  your  infant  lips.  A  very  picturesque, 
dear,  worthy,  and  Bible-reading  woman.  Your 
wet-nurse,  in  fact,  to  say  it  with  all  respect." 


98  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  What  about  her  ?  D'you  think  her  inter- 
ests are   not  safe  enough  with   me  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  ;  but  the  sun  rolling  in  space 
will  overlook  a  humble  flower  of  the  field 
unless  the  blossom  does  something  for  itself, 
and  thrusts  forward  its  head  to  win  the  benefi- 
cent beam.  In  fact,  we  must  catch  Providence 
on  the  hop  in  this  weary  world,  Sir  Archer. 
Gammer  has  not  your  ear ;  yet  injustice  is 
being  done  and  her  last  days  embittered.  She 
desires  to  lie  in  a  certain  spot  of  the  church- 
yard. It  has  been  her  ambition  ever  since  I 
knew  her.  Surely  a  lowly  ambition.  Yet  the 
Reverend  Baring  will  not  promise.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  graveyard  you  may  have 
observed  that  the  village  children,  after  their 
school  hours,  delight  to  play  and  trample  over 
the  dust  of  their  forefathers.  Also,  a  she-goat 
—  the  property  of  the  vicar  himself — bleats 
and  browses  there  in  a  manner  very  painful  to 
a  pious  mind.  Mrs.  Hatherley  does  not  desire 
to  be  browsed  and  bleated  over  where  she  lies 
awaiting  the  Last  Trump.  And  who  shall  blame 
her  ?     Again,  one  Sarah  Vosper  lies  next  to  the 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  99 

spot  where  our  poor  lady  will  probably  be  buried 
if  you  do  not  rise  in  your  power  to  prevent 
it.  Now  this  Sarah  Vosper,  during  life,  bore  a 
reputation  for  large-heartedness  and  easy  virtue 
very  painful  to  the  ancient  curator  of  Compton 
Castle.  Thomasin  Hatherley  has  a  concrete 
mind  in  these  matters  and  a  simple  faith  in 
the  Letter  of  the  Word.  To  think  of  lying 
beside  the  late  Mrs.  Vosper,  frankly,  causes  her 
the  greatest  uneasiness.  She  anticipates  the 
resurrection  of  the  body  —  of  her  body  and 
Mrs.  Vosper's  —  and  cannot  abide  the  thought 
that,  at  a  moment  when  Heaven  knows  there 
will  be  plenty  to  do  without  making  work,  some 
thew  or  bone  of  Mrs.  Vosper  may  by  inad- 
vertence be  hurriedly  inserted  within  her  own 
risen  and  glorified  frame.  Now  this  is  a  very 
painful  idea  —  especially  when  we  picture  Sarah 
in  another  place  with  some  anatomical  details 
pertaining  to  Mrs.  Hatherley.  One  dare  not 
shake  the  faith  of  the  aged  by  making  too 
light    of  such    matters,   though    as    men   of  the 

world " 

"  Stop  !  "    cried    the    Squire.      "  Never   did    I 


loo  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

hear  such  a  flux  of  words  in  my  life !  What 
the  old  woman  wants  I  understand.  I  will 
mention  the  affair  to  Baring.  There's  plenty 
of  time." 

*'  I  doubt  it,  if  I  may  differ.  She's  ill,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  and  at  ninety  life's  candle  vanishes 
to  a  puff"  of  air.  A  cold  or  chill  is  upon  her, 
and  she  has  no  power  to  take  adequate  nour- 
ishment. So  the  physician  from  Newton  Abbot 
informed  me  yesterday.  You  might  lengthen 
her  days  if  you  would  promise  her  the  place 
where  the  evening  sunlight  comes." 

"  111 !  Why  wasn't  I  told  ?  Hang  the  people  ! 
I  never  hear  anything  until  afterwards.  Now 
depart,  if  you  please.  I'll  see  you  again  about 
your  own  affairs.  This  barn  of  Cloberry's  and 
you  in  it,  drawing  the  Church  of  England  folks 
away  from  their  lawful  place  of  worship,  is  all 
wrong  and  very  unseemly.  You  will  have  to 
abandon   your  enterprise." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  conscience  —  and  finance. 
My  heart  swells  out  to  the  community.  Oh,  the 
community  !  Did  I  mention  that  ?  I  only  ask 
for  power  to  do  the  greatest  good  to  the  greatest 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  loi 

number.  Doubtless  you  are  of  the  same  mind. 
Indeed,  your  life,  as  the  prop  and  pillar  and 
strong  tower  of  defence  here,  prov^es  that  you  are. 
I  will  wait  upon  your  leisure.  Sir  Archer.  And 
Gammer  Hatherley  shall  know  that  you  are  on 
her  side.  It  mav  bring  new  life  to  her.  Mean- 
time, your  servant  to  command." 

Mr.  Newte  bowed  as  well  as  his  ample  form 
allowed  of  an  obeisance  and  departed.  He  had 
spoken  the  truth,  for  the  dame  at  Compton 
Castle  was  fast  approaching  her  allotted  span, 
and  her  interests  and  hopes  as  she  daily  waned 
away  were  centred  about  her  last  resting-place. 
She  murmured  her  grievance  to  all  who  would 
listen  ;  then,  out  of  good-nature  as  much  as  any 
other  reason,  Johnny  Fortnight  brought  the 
story  again   to  the   Squire's  ear. 

But  Thomasin  did  not  live  to  hear  of  her  old 
master's  promise.  When  Mr.  Newte  visited  the 
castle  next  morning  he  learned  that  Granny 
Hatherley  was  beyond  all   mundane  interests. 

There  had  fallen  a  great  storm  on  Lower 
Marldon,  and  the  old  castle  groaned  to  the 
thunder.     At  the  height  of  the  electric  tempest. 


102  THE   GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Sibella,  who  vainly  tried  to  keep  the  intermit- 
tent dazzle  of  the  lightning  from  her  grand- 
mother's chamber,  noticed  a  marked  change  in 
the  old  woman.  She  much  feared  the  riot  and 
rage  of  the  storm,  writhed  under  it  and  moaned 
aloud. 

"  God's  mercy,  what  a  night  for  a  poor  body 
to  go  up-along !  "  she  cried.  "  How's  my  auld 
weak  sawl  to  weather  such  a  storm  !  The  angels 
theerselves  won't  be  able  to  hold  wing  up  'gainst 
the  rain.  No  feathered  thing  could  do  it.  Sib, 
come  you  here  an'  hold  to  my  hand  fast.  I  be 
gwaine  —  I  be  gwaine  to  die.  My  heart's 
stoppin'.  An',  mind  —  pastor  knaws  'bout  you. 
You  ax  un  for  what  I've  left  'e." 

The  girl  got  brandy,  then  flew  to  waken  her 
grandmother's  brother  who  slept  below.  The 
storm  had  not  shaken  old  Crab  Hatherley's 
sleep,  and  he  swore  when  his  grand-niece  finally 
roused  him. 

"  What's  the  upstore  for,  you  li'l  fule  ?  Be 
'feared  of  thunder?     Go    along    with    'e.      Now 

I'll    not    close    eyes    again    till    marnin',   drabbit 

>> 
you. 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  103 

"  'Tis  gran'mother  —  she's  going  to  die.  She's 
changed  terribly.     The  storm  is  killing  her." 

"  Her  never  could  abide  lightning." 

"  But  she's  growing  worse  every  moment. 
Pray  run  for  the  doctor,  or  it  may  be   too   late." 

"  She've  got  to  graw  worse  'fore  she  graws 
better.  'Tis  time  her  went,  an'  I  ban't  gwaine  to 
traapse  through  a  thunderstorm  for  she  or  any 
other  body.  She've  never  been  a  gude  sister  to 
me,  an'  haven't  left  me  the  price  of  a  tobacco- 
pipe  in  her  will,  for  she  told  me  so.  So  you  can 
go  for  doctor  yourself  if  you'm  fule  enough." 

His  voice  was  pitched  high  at  his  keyhole  to 
outroar  the  thunder.  Then  Sibella  heard  him 
get  back  into  bed ;  and,  as  the  girl  hastened  to 
the  sufferer,  she  caught  one  blinding  glimpse 
of  the  flower-garden  with  shining  threads  of 
rain  lashing  down  upon  it,  and  all  the  colour 
sucked  out  of  the  flowers  under  a  blue  glare  of 
lightning. 

When  she  returned  to  Mrs.  Hatherley's  side 
Sibella  found  her  grandmother  unconscious  ;  and 
so  the  old  woman  remained  until  the  end.  With 
the  storm  she  passed  in   peace,  and  Crab   Hath- 


104  T^HE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

erley,  appearing  for  a  moment  on  his  road  to 
work  next  morning,  found  that  his  sister  was 
dead,  regarded  her  grimly,  and  then  stumped  off 
to  tell  the  news.  He  was  glad  that  she  had  gone 
at  last.  For  a  day  or  two  at  least  her  death 
would  render  him  of  passing  interest  and  impor- 
tance, and  it  must  also  represent  a  little  extra 
drinking,  because  etiquette  demands  that  bereaved 
persons  should  be  offered  free  liquor. 

For  others  beside  her  brother  this  departure  of 
the  dame  represented  events  of  great  enduring 
importance.  To  Richard  Gilbert,  now  an  en- 
gaged man,  it  meant  probability  of  marriage  at 
no  distant  date ;  to  his  sweetheart  it  opened  a 
new  life  from  almost  every  point  of  view,  and 
also  marked  the  end  of  her  peaceful  maidenhood 
in  the  old  ruin  ;  to  Mr.  Newte  it  awoke  afresh 
the  gravest  possible  problems.  He  was  quite 
overweighted  with  the  difficulties  that  Fate  now 
cast  upon  him,  and  the  destination  of  a  parcel  of 
Bank  of  England  notes,  representing  one  thou- 
sand pounds,  caused  him  sleepless  nights  and 
anxious  days.  At  one  time  he  thought  of  escap- 
ing from  conscience  quickly  and  simply  by  the 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  105 

crude  process  of  fulfilling  his  trust  and  handing 
the  money  to  Sibella  upon  her  grandparent's 
death.  To  do  this  was  the  matter  of  a  moment. 
He  had  but  to  take  a  little  key  from  the  inside 
of  a  yellow  stoneware  dog  on  the  mantelpiece, 
unlock  the  old  cabinet,  and  open  the  inner  secret 
drawer. 

But  Mr.  Newte  was  not  a  man  to  follow  a 
simple  and  easy  course  if  his  duty  seemed  to 
indicate  one  more  difficult.  He  was  a  remorse- 
less casuist  and  great  splitter  of  ethical  straws. 
His  soul,  as  he  had  told  Sir  Archer  Baskerville, 
was  in  the  habit  of  going  out  to  the  community  ; 
his  motto  was,  "  The  greatest  good  to  the  great- 
est number."  Now  he  desired  to  know  whether 
a  thousand  pounds  in  the  hand  of  Sibella  would 
be  likely  to  prosper  the  common-weal  and  prac- 
tically advance  the  well-being  of  others  beyond 
herself.  He  much  feared  that  this  was  improb- 
able. The  girl  was  doubtless  selfish,  and  cer- 
tainly ignorant  of  the  power  of  money.  She 
might  misapply  the  bequest ;  in  fact,  the  more 
Alpheus  thought  about  it  the  more  convinced 
was  he  that  she   would   do  so.     He   considered 


io6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

deeply  with  himself  upon  the  subject,  and  he  found 
that  Heaven  seemed  to  expect  another  sacrifice 
on  his  part.  To  get  any  power  over  the  money 
without  first  winning  Sibella  looked  difficult,  so 
long  as  Mr.  Newte  conducted  himself  upon  con- 
ventional lines  and  proceeded  honestly  in  the 
ordinary  acceptation  of  that  word.  Therefore 
Alpheus  felt  that  once  again  he  must  offer  him- 
self to  the  girl  as  her  natural  protector  and  sup- 
port. He  knew  that  she  had  accepted  Richard 
Gilbert ;  he  was  aware  that  his  case  would  be 
worse  than  hopeless;  yet  his  conscience  had  to 
be  satisfied.  He  accepted  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity, and  proposed  to  Sibella  again  upon  the 
day  before  her  grandmother  was  buried.  In  this 
matter  he  showed  no  emotion  until  after  her 
indignant  refusal.  Then  he  declared  himself  a 
man  for  whom  life  had  but  one  road  henceforth: 
the  steep,  strait  pathway  of  well-doing. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  finding  her  alone,  —  "  Come, 
my  child,  from  this  atmosphere  of  death  into  the 
good  air.  We  will  walk  in  the  courtyard  awhile, 
for  I  have  something  of  importance  to  say  to 
you. 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  107 

Sibella,  who  very  well  remembered  the  last 
words  that  she  had  heard  her  grandmother  utter, 
supposed  that  the  man  referred  to  the  same 
matter,  and  therefore  without  hesitation  walked 
beside  him  into  the  grass-grown  quadrangle  of 
the  ruin. 

"  We'll  sit  here,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
great  flight  of  stone  steps  that  ascended  through 
a  little  gate  in  the  outer  walls.  The  way  led  to 
old  gardens  beyond,  where  apple-trees  flourished 
above  raspberry-canes  and  gooseberry-bushes, 
and  where  the  open  spaces  shone  gay  with  opium 
poppies,  stocks,  roses,  and  other  flowers  in  box- 
bound  beds.  The  stairway  rose  by  shallow  steps 
whose  every  nook  and  crannv  was  full  of  seeding 
grasses,  adorned  with  ripening  wood-strawberries, 
or  the  home  of  little  ferns. 

"  A  very  comfortable  spot,  embroidered  by 
Nature's  own  wondrous  hand,"  declared  Mr. 
Newte.  "  Yet  there  is  a  hint  of  dampness  which 
might  induce  rheumatism  in  the  years  to  come. 
This  article  meets  the  case,  however." 

He  took  a  sack  which  had  held  food  for  fowls, 
spread    it,   bid    Sibella   be  seated,   and   then   de- 


io8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

posited  himself  as  near  to  her  as  the  dimensions 
of  the  sack  made  necessary. 

"You  will  remember,"  he  said,  "certain  pain- 
ful incidents  connected  with  yonder  chapel.  I 
was  justly  punished  for  presuming  to  address 
you  within  the  precincts  of  a  popish  place  of 
worship.  Now,  for  reasons  entirely  creditable  to 
me,  and  despite  the  fact  that  you  think  that  you 
love  the  youth  Dick  Gilbert,  I  ask  you  again  to 
be  my  wife  instead  of  his.  Don't  blaze;  this  is 
a  matter  of  conscience,  and  much  may  depend 
upon  it." 

Sibella  sprang  to  her  feet.  Then  she  sat  down 
once  more  beside  the  man  to  show  how  entirely 
she  despised  him. 

"  You  were  to  be  my  father  a  few  days  ago, 
Johnny  Fortnight ;  now  you  want  to  be  my  hus- 
band again  —  and  no  Dick  with  a  shot-gun  any- 
where nearer  than  Dartmouth.  He's  there  for 
the  day." 

"  I  was  not  ignorant  of  that.  I  desired  to 
place  this  matter  coolly  and  calmly  before  you." 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  Richard  in  the  autumn." 

"  He  is  very  young  and  very  hot-headed." 


OLD    THOiVIASIN    PASSES.  109 

"  He  is  the  only  man  in  the  world." 

"That,  at  least,  is  definite.  I'm  sorry;  I'm 
bitterly  sorry  —  not  so  much  for  myself  as  for  the 
community.  You  don't  understand  that ;  but  it 
doesn't  matter.  Yes,  I'm  stricken,  though  it  may 
not  appear." 

"You  look  as  though  you  would  get  over  it," 
declared  Sibella. 

"  There  is  a  despair  that  laughs,"  answered  the 
pastor.  "  It  is  very  horrid  to  hear.  I  feel  like 
that ;  but  I  won't  tear  your  heart  or  disturb 
this  venerable  ruin  with  any  hyaena-like  note  of 
grief.  I  merely  record  that  my  emotions  prompt 
me  to  utter  such  a  sound.  But  they  are  under 
perfect  control.  These  walls,  that  have  witnessed 
the  shapes  of  heroes  and  echoed  their  voices, 
shall  not  hear  any  unmanly  howl  from  me.  I 
assure  you  that  these  steps,  which  the  feet  of  a 
Ralegh  have  trodden,  shall  be  wetted  by  no  weak 
tear  of  mine.  Depart  in  peace,  Sibella,  and  be 
sure  I  shall  never  ask  you  again.  I  have  to 
consider  my  self-respect  and  my  duty  to  my 
neighbour;  in  fact,  only  the  thought  of  gen- 
erations yet  unborn  has  torn  this  renewed  dec- 


no  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

laration  out  of  me.  Personally,  I  cannot  say  I 
want  you." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Newte,"  said  Sibella,  sharply, 
"it's  only  kind  to  suppose  that  you're  mad.  If 
you're  sane,  there's  no  excuse  for  you  at  all." 

"Ah,  but  there  is  !  "  he  answered,  thinking  of 
the  thousand  pounds.  "  How  little  you  know  — 
and  how  little  you're  likely  to  know,"  he  added, 
half  to  himself.  Then  he  shook  his  head,  folded 
his  hands  over  his  round  belly,  and  sighed. 

Suddenly,  to  his  great  amazement,  Sibella  took 
up  the  thread  of  his  secret  thoughts. 

"  I  believed  you  had  something  very  different 
to  tell  me,"  she  declared.  "  Instead  of  this  non- 
sense, I  expected  something  practical.  D'you 
know  what  poor  dear  granny's  last  words  to  me 
were  ?  I  left  her  immediately  after  she  had  said 
them,  and  when  I  came  back  she  was  unconscious 
and  never  spoke  again." 

"  Some  expression  of  fervent  faith,  if  I  knew 
her  aright." 

"No  —  a  kind  thought  for  me.  She  had  a 
secret  and  she  trusted  it  to  you.  '  Pastor  knows,' 
she  whispered  to  me  —  dear,  dear  Granny  —  *  you 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  iii 

ask  him  for  what  I've  left  you ! '  That  was 
what  she  said.  Richard  was  going  to  ask  you  to 
explain  after  the  funeral ;  but  you  won't  mind 
telling  me,  as  the  question  has  suddenly  risen  to 
my  mind,  will  you  ^  " 

It  now  became  necessary  for  Alpheus  to  con- 
clude with  himself  upon  a  definite  course.  He 
did  not  immediately  answer,  and  Sibella  spoke 
again  :  — 

"  There  is  to  be  a  little  auction,  as  you  know. 
Granny's  few  things  are  very  old  and  not  valua- 
ble. I  wanted  Great-uncle  Joshua  to  have  them  ; 
but  she  desired  that  they  should  all  be  sold.  I'm 
afraid  she  didn't  want  great-uncle  to  have  any- 
thing or  any  money;  but  I  shall  give  him  half 
of  the  little  that  is  likely  to  come.  For  the 
rest,  perhaps  you  can  throw  some  light  on  my 
puzzle  ?  " 

Unconsciously  Sibella  had  thrown  some  light 
upon  Mr.  Newte's.  The  great  voice  of  the  com- 
munity was  calling  him.  Must  one  girl,  about  to 
marry  a  rich  young  man,  stand  between  a  thou- 
sand pounds  and  the  hungry,  thirsty,  naked  com- 
munity ?     The  pastor  was  still   uncertain.      He 


112  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

stood  at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Then  he  took 
the  crooked  road. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  you  were  talking  about. 
My  conversation  with  the  dear  dead  woman  had 
very  Httle  to  do  with  earth  as  a  rule  —  save  the 
narrow  space  she  coveted  at  Upper  Marldon.  I 
was  instrumental  in  winning  that  for  her.  She 
will  lie  in  the  red  sunset  light,  far  removed  from 
the  doubtful  dust  of  Sarah  Vosper.  More  I  can- 
not tell  you.  She  left  you  her  blessing  to  my 
certain  knowledge;  and  the  blessing  of  a  virtuous 
woman  availeth  much.  But  nothing  tangible,  so 
to  say;  no  gold  was  ever  mentioned,  no  coin  of 
this  realm  —  but  the  other,  good  measure  pressed 
down  and  running  over.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  old 
people  have  curious  delusions.  She  may  have 
dreamed,  or  seen  a  fortune  in  a  vision.  The 
wish  was  father  to  the  thought,  for  she  loved  you 
dearly.      Who  doesn't  ?  " 

"You  cannot  help  me  then  ?" 

"I  wish  I  could.  I'll  ransack  my  memory  — 
yet  it  will  probably  be  in  vain.  If  I  may  speak, 
Sibella,  I  would  remind  you  that  money  should 
be  used   as  a  weapon,  not   as   an   ornament.      It 


OLD    THOMASIN    PASSES.  113 

brings  obligations.  The  poor  alone  are  really 
free." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Newte.  The  point  is,  that  dear 
Granny  had  money  saved ;  her  brother  knows 
that  much  too.  I  wanted  to  look  about,  but 
Mr.  Hatherley  won't  let  me  touch  anything. 
He's  arranged  the  sale  with  Mr.  Michelmore, 
the  auctioneer  of  Newton  Abbot,  and  he's  busy 
day  and  night,  polishing  up  the  furniture  and 
china  to  make  it  fetch  more  money.  Since 
I've  promised  him  half  of  all  the  auction  fetches 
he's  been  more  unpleasant  than  ever  to  me,  if 
that  was  possible." 

"The  world  in  a  nutshell,  Sibella.  It  takes 
a  big  pattern  of  mind  to  accept  benefits  with- 
out turning  sour.  Thank  God,  I  have  reached 
that  sort  of  mind  myself  I  trumpet  a  benefit ; 
I  proclaim  a  benefaction  from  the  housetops. 
No  man  who  does  me  a  good  turn  need  fear  my 
enmity,  or  doubt  that  he  will  have  an  excel- 
lent advertisement.  Without  vanity  I  can  lay 
my  hand  upon  my  heart  and  say  I  practise  as 
well  as  preach  that  rarest  of  Christian  virtues, 
gratitude.       To-day  I   am  grateful  even   to  you, 


114  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Sibella ;  you  have  done  me  good.  Uncon- 
sciously you  have  pointed  out  my  duty.  The 
road  to  duty  is  often  very  uncertain ;  in  fact, 
I  always  say  that  many  more  people  would  do 
their  duty  in  this  world  if  they  only  knew  it. 
Mine  now  seems  clear :  you  will  not  marry 
me  ;  you  prefer  to  go  upon  your  own  rash  and 
unconsidered  way.  So  be  it.  I  have  done  what 
I  could.  My  duty  to  you  ceases,  and  I  have 
to  fall  back  upon  my  duty  to  the  community. 
These  things  are  a  parable  to  you.  And  now 
farewell.  We  shall  meet  at  the  funeral,  for, 
though  he  will  try,  Mr.  Baring  cannot  refuse 
me  permission  to  attend   it." 

He  chattered  himself  out  of  her  sight,  and 
Sibella,  thankful  to  be  free,  passed  alone  through 
the  garden  with  her  thoughts  upon  her  lover. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LOT    NO.    39. 

"  T|    ^'YOU  know  anything  of  the  old  man, 

I  1  Mr.  Joshua  Hatherley  ?  "  enquired 
Richard  of  John  Bridle  upon  the 
morning  after  Thomasin's  funeral. 

They  walked  together  to  inspect  young 
turnips  upon  outlying  land,  and  Gilbert,  who 
was  ill  at  ease,  sought  information. 

Mr.  Bridle  stopped  in  his  stride.  He 
always  desisted  from  any  action  when  a  ques- 
tion was  addressed  to  him. 

"Crab  Hatherley's  a  poor  item,"  he  declared. 
"The  man  wouldn't  eat  a  green  apple  for  the 
belly-ache ;  but  when  you've  said  that,  'tis  all 
you  can  say  for  him.  A  surly  twoad  of  a  chap. 
An'  come  pretty  soon  he  won't  earn  his  keep, 
for  he's  gettin'  blamed  .'tiff  in  the  back  an'  so 
slow  as  Time  about  a  job." 

"  You  see,  as  he's  a  relation  of  my  girl,  I 
"5 


ii6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

can't  have  him  here  doing  common  labourer's 
work  any  more." 

"  Ban't  seemly,  of  coourse.  Wouldn't  be  no 
lasting  evil  if  us  got  rid  of  him  altogether. 
He'm  comical  tempered,  an'  so  ignorant  as  dirt. 
Can't  write  his  name  even.  He  haven't  go*- 
brains  enough  to  be  anything  but  honest,  but 
he's  so  vicious  as  the  last  auld  stallion  us  had, 
and  would  do  harm  if  he  could.  I've  seed  un 
make  faces  like  a  monkey  when  he  was  vexed 
an'  thought  I  wasn't  lookin'." 

Richard  felt  no  astonishment  at  this  harsh 
criticism,  for  what  had  happened  recently  con- 
firmed it  and  tended  much  to  trouble  him. 
Crab  Hatherley,  in  consideration  of  his  loss 
and  the  necessity  for  winding  up  his  sister's 
affairs,  was  allowed  three  days'  holiday,  and  dur- 
ing that  time  he  had  been  very  busy  in  the  morn- 
ings and  very  intoxicated  after  nightfall.  An  air 
of  mystery  and  importance  marked  his  manners, 
and  he  treated  Sibella  in  a  cruel,  high-handed 
fashion   that   nothing  could  explain   or  excuse. 

Her  offers  to  aid  his  preparations  for  the 
auction    were   curtlv  declined.      Crab  insisted   on 


LOT   NO.    39.  117 

doing  everything  himself.  He  pohshed  the  old 
china  and  brass;  he  made  the  warming-pan 
glitter  like  a  star ;  he  cleaned  the  picture-frames 
of  the  German  prints,  and  applied  beeswax  to 
the  little  Sheraton  cupboard.  But,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  washing  linen  and  anti-macassars, 
Sibella  was  allowed  no  hand  in  these  prelimi- 
naries. Her  great-uncle  went  on  his  way,  and 
refused  the  girl  so  much  as  a  sight  of  the  old 
letters  and  other  accumulations  he  rummaged 
from  dusty  drawers  and  a  tarnished  writing  desk, 
hidden  for  five  and  twenty  years  in  a  long  box 
under  Granny  Hatherley's  woollen  graveclothes. 
These,  with  a  board  upon  which  her  husband 
had  been  laid  out,  were  used  at  her  obsequies 
according  to  the  dame's  directions. 

"  I've  burned  the  lot  of  'em,"  said  Crab. 
"  Rubbishy  auld  writings  'bout  dead  an'  gone 
folks.  They  wouldn't  do  you  no  gude,  an' 
maybe  if  you'd  read  'em  they'd  awnly  wake  evil 
thoughts  in  you  of  them  as  be  dust.  All  burnt 
an'  nought  for  their  labour  but  ashes.  That 
shaws  a  man's  a  fule  to  larn  to  write.  Ashes  will 
be  the  end  of  all  he  puts  down." 


ii8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  But,  oh,  this  is  terrible  !  "  cried  poor  Sibella 
upon  his  startling  news.  "  There's  a  packet  that 
belongs  to  me.  It  came  home  with  me  from  my 
father  when  I  was  a  baby.  It  will  tell  me  all 
about  my  mother,  so  Granny  fancied.  You 
haven't  burnt  that.  Great-uncle  Joshua  .''  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  haven't.  I  knaw  wheer  'tis, 
but  I  can't  get  at  it.  Her  kept  that  in  the  cabi- 
net, an'  the  auld  fule  'pears  to  have  lost  the  key, 
for  I  can't  find  it  nowheers.  'Tis  theer,  however, 
wi'  her  son's  baaby  socks  an'  other  damn  fulish- 
ness  she  kept  in  it.  An'  as  I  can't  ope  it,  an'  ban't 
gwaine  to  spoil  the  lock  afore  the  auction,  you'd 
best  to  tell  your  young  man  —  Dick  Gilbert  at 
Orchard  Farm  —  to  buy  it  when  'tis  put  up." 

"  Mr.  Newte  wants  to  buy  it,"  said  Sibella ; 
"  he's  anxious  to  have  a  memento  of  dear  grand- 
mother." 

The  old  man  chuckled. 

"  So  much  the  better  then.  Us'll  see  how 
far  Johnny  Fortnight's  purse  '11  take  him  on 
that  road.  Not  far,  I  judge.  They  can  bid 
each  against  t'other ;  an'  when  you've  got  the 
papers  you'll  do  wisely  to  burn  'em,  for  so  like 


LOT   NO.    39.  119 

as  not  they'll  tell  you  more'n  you  want  to 
knaw." 

"  They'll  tell  me  all  about  my  mother,"  she 
answered. 

"  An'  that  may  be  just  what  you'd  rather  not 
hear.  Doan't  pretend  you'm  so  innocent.  How 
if  she  weern't  married  at  all  ?  'Tis  a  way  they've 
got  in  furrin  paarts.  You'm  wrong  side  the 
blanket  so  like  as  not.  Then  my  gentleman  to 
the  farm,  with  his  high,  vain  fancies  of  gude 
havage,  wouldn't  take  'e,  not  if  you  was  made  of 
solid  gawld  wi'  diamond  eyes  !  " 

Crab  laughed  to  see  the  girl  go  pale,  then  red. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  so  of  dead  people  ?  " 
she  cried.  "  And  of  my  own  father !  Oh,  I 
wish  I  was  a  man,  and  as  old  as  you  are  for  a 
moment,  then  I'd  thrash  your  wicked  old  bones 
till  you  screamed  —  I  would." 

He  grinned  at  her  rage,  and  grew  amiable  before 
the  sight  of  so  much  indignation  and  grief. 

"  My  advice  is  gude,  for  all  your  flutter. 
Doan't  'e  read  them  papers  if  you  want  to  keep 
your  peace  of  mind.  An'  what's  more,  don't 
'e    let    the    chap    read    'em.     They    say    as    the 


I20  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

written  word  stands ;  but  it  can't  stand  afore  a 
coal  fire." 

Great  fears  came  upon  Sibella. 

"  Have  you  ever  read  them  that  you  speak 
so?"  she  asked  faintly.  "  I  know  you  can  read, 
Great-uncle  Joshua,  though  you  cannot  write." 

"  I  doan't  say  I  have,  an'  I  doan't  say  I  have 
not,"  he  answered.  "Anyway  theer  they  be,  safe 
an'  sound  in  the  cabinet,  an'  he  as  buys  it  to 
auction  will  buy  'em  ;  so  you'd  best  to  see  to  it. 
Ban't  right  they  should  fall  into  that  Newte's 
hands,  for  you've  refused  the  man  in  marriage,  so 
he'm  against  you  for  sartain,  an'  will  do  you  a  ill 
trick  if  chance  offers." 

There  the  conversation  ended,  and  while 
Sibella,  in  dire  trepidation,  sought  Richard,  Mr. 
Hatherley  proceeded  with  preparations  for  the 
little  sale. 

His  sweetheart's  tearful  nev/s  made  Gilbert 
angry  enough ;  and  that  Alpheus  Newte  had 
furnished  no  explanation  of  Gammer  Hatherley's 
departing  words  also  troubled  him  somewhat. 
But  in  this  matter  Richard  suspected  the  pastor 
was  right  when   he  declared  how  old  people  are 


LOT   NO.    39.  121 

too  often  oppressed  by  visionary  ideas.  That 
Granny  had  anything  to  leave  Sibella,  beyond  the 
packet  of  her  father's  papers,  Richard  doubted. 
The  place  of  these  documents,  without  question, 
represented  the  secret  long  held  by  young 
Gilbert's  father ;  and  now  he  considered  the  trust 
had  descended  to  him.  Mr.  Newte  was  ignorant 
of  their  existence  if  he  spoke  truth.  Indeed  only 
Crab  Hatherley  knew  of  them.  Richard's  indig- 
nation with  the  latter  increased.  His  first  idea 
was  to  go  down  to  the  castle  and  take  the  papers 
by  force ;  then  he  listened  to  Sibella  and  chose 
the  simpler  plan. 

"Bid  for  the  cabinet,"  she  said;  "there'll  be 
nobody  to  outbid  you.  Johnny  Fortnight  said 
he  wanted  it  as  a  keepsake,  but  he  won't  go 
beyond  a  few  shillings  probably.  Offer  a  sov- 
ereign and  that  will   settle  the   matter." 

Other  ideas  less  romantic  occurred  to  Richard, 
but  Sibella  pressed  her  own  advice  and  the 
matter  remained  so.  The  day  of  the  auction 
arrived,  and  when  some  five-and-thirty  persons 
appeared  to  purchase  their  old  neighbour's 
effects,   it    was    found    that    Mr.   Hatherley    had 


122  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

taken  an  unusual  step  and  arranged  to  hold  the 
sale  in  open  air. 

Inspired  by  a  noble  August  morning,  the  old 
man,  with  Sibella's  help,  which  was  not  disdained 
on  this  occasion,  set  to  work  at  dawn,  and  by 
nine  o'clock  had  every  article  that  was  to  be  soM 
carried  from  his  dwelling-rooms  in  Compton 
Castle  and  arranged  among  the  flower-beds  at 
the  main  entrance.  A  strange  medley  was  spread 
under  the  frank  daylight,  and  the  jackdaws  upon 
the  battlements  held  cawing  convention  respect- 
ing the  significance  of  such  unusual  gleam  and 
glitter  below.  The  great  warming-pan  stood 
amidst  scarlet  dahlias  just  unfolding;  stacks  of 
plates  and  crockery  arose  from  the  larkspurs  and 
budding  asters ;  tables  and  chairs  lined  the  path- 
way ;  upon  the  *  upping-stock '  stood  piles  of 
china ;  a  freak  had  prompted  Crab  to  nail  up 
five  German  prints  against  the  outer  walls  of  the 
castle ;  and  the  little  Sheraton  cabinet,  as  though 
ashamed  of  company  so  humble,  hid  behind  blue 
spires  of  monkshood  in  a  corner. 

Mr.  Michelmore,  a  sleek  and  self-sufficient 
youth  from  Newton  Abbot,  blamed  old  Hather- 
ley  not  a  little  for  his  vagary. 


LOT   NO.    39.  123 

"  Idiot !  "  he  said.  "  The  only  hope  for  such 
rubbish  was  to  sell  it  in  the  dark  if  possible. 
Here,  under  the  glaring  sun,  every  worm-hole 
in  the  wood  and  every  crack  in  the  china  can 
be  seen.  You'll  be  lucky  if  you  get  five  pounds 
for  the  lot." 

His  rostrum  was  fashioned  from  a  kitchen- 
chair,  and  Mr.  Michelmore  knocked  down  the 
poor  possessions  on  the  top  of  a  "  grandfather " 
clock. 

There  were  present  Mr.  Bridle,  Richard  Gil- 
bert, Abel  Easterbrook  and  others  from  Orchard 
Farm ;  Sibella  and  her  great-uncle ;  Farmer 
Cloberry  with  lesser  celebrities  of  Upper  Marl- 
don,  and  a  sprinkling  of  cottage  folks  from  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  Compton  Castle. 
Alpheus  Newte  arrived  just  as  the  third  lot  — 
two  yellow  cloam  dogs  of  shining  exterior,  with 
red  and  black  spots  upon  them  —  had  been 
knocked  down  for  sevenpence  to  Tim  Blake  of 
Orchard  Farm.  He,  poor  soul,  designed  them 
for  his  mother,  and,  after  bidding,  had  turned 
red  to  see  all  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  He  shivered 
under  such  sudden  publicity. 


124  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  My  stars  !  "  he  said  to  Anne  Mason,  who 
stood  next  to  him.  "  You  folks  will  think  I  be 
made  o'  money.  Theer's  a  shillin'  tored  to 
tatters  all  to  wance  like  !  " 

But  he  secured  the  china  dogs,  and  his  heart 
beat  so  that  he  thought  all  must  hear  it  as  he 
stepped  back  to  his  place  with  them,  for  a 
muffled  tinkle  came  from  the  interior  of  one, 
and  Tim  suspected  it  must  be  a  coin.  In  reality 
it  was  the  key  of  the  Sheraton  cabinet  that  had 
slipped  from  its  cotton  wool. 

The  sale  progressed,  but  not  all  Mr.  Michel- 
more's  eloquence  could  charm  much  money  from 
the  pockets  of  those  present,  and  Crab  Hatherley 
excited  some  merriment  as  he  limped  about  revil- 
ing those  who  purchased  for  shillings  what  he 
had  hoped  would  produce  half-crowns.  Sibella 
bought  several  trifles  dear  to  her  from  recollec- 
tion ;  Richard  secured  the  family  Bible  of  the 
Hatherleys  —  an  heirloom  to  which  Crab  attached 
no  importance.  Anne  Mason  purchased  two 
chairs  "  for  the  price  of  firewood,"  as  the  auc- 
tioneer indignantly  declared ;  and  Mr.  Cloberry, 
at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Newte,  acquired  eight 


LOT   NO.    39.  125 

books  of  old  sermons  for  two  shillings.  The 
farmer  was  secretly  annoyed  afterwards  to  find 
that  he  might  have  purchased  them  at  a  lower 
figure ;  as  it  was,  his  first  bid  instantly  stilled  all 
competition,  and  he  departed  with  four  sound 
but  rather  heavy  theological  lights  in  each 
pocket. 

Sibella's  heart  sank  at  the  poverty  of  the 
prices.  She  had  hoped  to  bring  Richard  a  ten- 
pound  note  in  her  pocket  at  the  least,  but  there 
seemed  no  prospect  of  it.  Even  the  teapot  of 
Britannia  metal  —  a  thing  she  deemed  of  solid 
value  —  fetched  no  more  than  half-a-crown. 

Lot  No.  39  was  the  Sheraton  cabinet.  Crab 
Hatherley  dragged  it  into  the  light  with  his  eyes 
on  Pastor  Newte ;  and  the  little  gem  came  forth, 
as  it  seemed  reluctantly,  from  its  hiding  place. 
Mr.  Michelmore  perceived  that  the  piece  was 
ancient ;  otherwise  he  gazed  upon  it  without 
intelligence. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "we  have  an  article  of  virtoo, 
a  unique  creation  much  more  valuable  than  it 
looks  to  your  eyes,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I 
daresay  that  you  might  get  a   couple  of  pounds 


126  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

for  it  in  Exeter  or  Torquay.  Observe  the  beau- 
tiful shape.  The  worm-eaten  back  doesn't  matter; 
collectors  wouldn't  mind  that.  Now,  then,  who 
says  ten  shillings  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Richard ;  and  Mr.  Michelmore, 
rather  astonished,  lifted  his  hammer,  so  that  the 
reckless  youth  should  be  held  to  his  bargain. 

"Stay!"  cried  Alpheus  Newte.  "  If  there  is 
one  amongst  us  that  I  would  not  willingly  outbid 
it  is  Mr.  Gilbert,  but  these  matters  proceed  with- 
out prejudice.  You  understand,  don't  you, 
Richard  ?  I,  too,  have  a  fancy  for  this  little  con- 
cern. It  has  seen  better  days.  There  is  always 
a  pathos  about  anything  that  has  seen  better  days. 
Moreover,  the  dear  departed  woman,  our  old 
friend,  loved  it.  For  her  sake,  as  well  as  for  the 
sake  of  those  che  leaves  behind  her,  I  will  bid  — 
half-a-guinea,  or  ten  and  sixpence." 

"  One  pound  !  "  said  Richard  promptly. 

A  buzz  of  excitement  arose  from  the  assem- 
blage, and  Mr.  Newte  looked  pained  and  surprised. 

"  A  guinea,  then,"  he  said,  "  though  I  can  ill 
spare  it  upon  a  matter  of  sentiment.  If  it  was 
anybody  else " 


LOT   NO.    39.  127 

"Don't  talk  so  much,  please;  1  cannot  hear 
myself  speak  or  catch  the  bidding,"  interposed 
the  auctioneer.  "  Now,  what  advance  on  a 
guinea  ?  The  thing's  worth  five  pounds,  senti- 
ment or  no  sentiment.  We  wait  for  you,  Mr. 
Gilbert." 

"If  it's  worth  five,  I'll  bid  five,"*  said  Dick 
stoutly. 

"  Five  pounds  for  this  unique  treasure  !  "  cried 
Mr.  Michelmore,  who  saw  his  commission  rising. 
"  Now  then  !  "      He  lifted  his  hammer. 

"  Guineas,"  said  Newte.  Then  he  spoke  to 
Richard. 

"  There  is  a  lack  of  courtesy  in  thus  seeking 
to  outbid  an  elder  man,  Richard  Gilbert.  Con- 
sider the  disparity  in  our  ages.  I  am  hurt.  I 
should  not  have  expected  it  from  you." 

"  Ten  pounds,"  was  all  the  answer  he  got. 
Dick's  blood  was  up.  He  had  a  hundred 
pounds  of  his  own  money  saved,  and,  seeing  the 
nature  of  the  present  contention,  and  the  neces- 
sity for  victory,  he  resolved  that  if  need  be  he 
would  sacrifice   half  that  sum. 

"  I   could  find  it  in  my   heart    to    be    angry," 


128  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

began  Mr.  Newte.  "  Guineas  !  "  he  concluded 
abruptly,  as   the  auctioneer's   hammer   rose. 

And  thus  that  great  struggle  continued  — 
Richard  fiery  ;  the  pastor  apologetic  and  much 
hurt,  but  equally  determined.  When  the  lad 
had  bid  fifty  pounds,  and  the  man  capped  it 
with  an  offer  of  fifty  guineas,  Dick  bethought 
him,  and,  in  response  to  frantic  entreaties  from 
Sibella,  addressed  the  pastor. 

"  There's  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye," 
he  said  sharply.  "  The  cabinet  can't  be  worth 
half  all  that  money,  and  you're  not  the  man  to 
play  the  fool  like  this  for  nothing.  Let  me 
explain.  I  don't  want  the  wretched  box  —  only 
certain  papers  inside  it.  They  are  quite  private, 
and  concern  somebody  Fm  interested  in.  They 
are  no  business  of  yours  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Newte. 
The  thing  is  locked,  and  can't  be  opened  easily 
because  the  key  is  lost.  Now,  if  you'll  let  me 
have  everything  in  the  cabinet  I'll  bid  no  more." 

"  That's  a  fair  speech,"  declared  Mr.  Michel- 
more.     "  What  d'you  say,  sir  ^  " 

Alpheus  replied. 

"  I  will  eat  with  you  and  drink  with  you  and 


LOT   NO.    39.  129 

pray  with  you,  Richard  Gilbert,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  will  not  parley  with  you.  You  have  done  me 
a  very  ill-turn  in  thus  straining  my  scanty  means 
to  the  utmost  tension,  and  nothing  but  the  know- 
ledge that  my  money  will  go  to  better  Sibella's 
fortune  would  have  made  me  outbid  you.  It 
is  very  unkind  and  uncharitable.  I'm  not 
pleased  about  it.  To  say  that  I'm  pleased 
about  it  would  be  to  tell  a  deliberate  falsehood." 

"  Will  you  give  up  the  documents,  or  will  you 
not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will.  When  the  cabinet  is 
opened  anything  —  in  fact  everything  —  that 
meets  the  eye  of  the  observer  shall  be  instantly 
handed  over  to  its  rightful  owner.  What  do 
you  take  me  for,  a  thief  and  a  robber.'*  And  I 
have  prayed  for  you  and  Sibella  in  open  meet- 
ing by  name  !  Fifty  guineas  —  not  thrown  away, 
I  won't  say  that,  but  expended  by  one  who  can 
ill  afford  such  a  sum." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Richard;  "the  thing 
is  yours,  and  I'll  give  you  ten  pounds  of  the 
money  back,  seeing  that  it  might  be  said  I  had 
run  you   up  dishonestly   for   my  own   ends.      If 


130  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

it's  really  worth  five  pounds,  you  can  sell  it 
again.  And  you've  only  got  to  thank  your 
own  obstinacy  that  you've  been  called  upon  to 
pay  so  much." 

"  Rather  say  yours,  my  son,"  answered  the 
victor  gently,  as  he  mopped  his  forehead. 

"  Going  then  for  fifty  guineas,"  said  the 
auctioneer,  and  he  raised  his  hammer  again. 
"  Going  —  going " 

"What  is  going?"  shouted  a  loud  voice. 
Unseen  by  the  interested  crowd.  Sir  Archer 
Baskerville  had  ridden  up  over  the  grass  behind 
them.      Now  the  party  made  way  for  him. 

"What  is  going?  Not  that  cabinet,  Hather- 
ley  ?  I  told  you  after  your  sister's  death  that 
I   designed  to  purchase  that." 

"  You  said  ten  pounds,  an'  I  was  gwaine  to 
give  so  much  for  'e.  Squire,"  replied  the  old 
man  ;  "  but  theer's  been  brisk  bidding  in  open 
market,  an'  the  cab'n't  have  gone  for  more." 

Crab  was  very  excited.  The  presence  of  the 
lord  of  the  manor  by  no  means  served  to  check 
his  jubilant  demeanour.  Now  he  gesticulated 
like   a   puppet   on    ill-hung   wires,   and    his    dim 


LOT   NO.    39.  131 

eyes  peered  back  and  forward  from  Sir  Archer 
to  Mr.  Newte,  from  the  pastor  back  again  to 
the  knight. 

"  Who  among  you  has  bid  more  ?  "  enquired 
the  great  man,  twirhng  his  moustache,  and  gaz- 
ing round  with  the  look  of  one  who  had  been 
outraged  in  his  own  house.  "This  is  most  ir- 
regular," he  continued.  "  I  ought  to  have  been 
communicated  with.  Supposing  the  thing  had 
gone,  and  I  had  remained  in  ignorance  !  Only 
a  great  chance  brings  me  here  this  morning." 

"  The  thing  has  gone.  Sir  Archer,"  ventured 
Mr.  Newte.     "  It  is  mine.     The  hammer  fell." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort !  "  exclaimed  the  indig- 
nant auctioneer. 

"  Indeed  it  did,   Mr.   Michelmore." 

"  D'you  think  I  don't  know  when  my  own 
hammer  falls  ?  I  say  it  didn't.  The  last  bid 
was  fifty  guineas." 

Sir  Archer  expressed  considerable  surprise. 

"  You  bid  that  ?  "  he  asked  Alpheus  sharply. 

"I  did." 

"  You  must  be  mad ;  the  cabinet  is  not 
worth  it." 


132  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  If  I  may  say  so  without  offence,  a  thing  is 
held  to  be  worth  what  it  will  fetch,  Sir  Archer." 

The  knight  frowned. 

"  I've  wanted  that  cabinet  for  twenty  years," 
he  said,  "  and   I'm  going  to   have  it." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  indeed  to  come 
between  you  and  this  piece  of  furniture,"  de- 
clared the  pastor.  "  If  you'll  turn  your  horse 
aside  a  moment  out  of  earshot,  I'll  speak  a 
private  word.  I  am  quite  aware  that  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  poor  servant  of  the  Lord  bidding 
fifty  guineas  for  a  toy  is  probably  unique ;  but 
one  can  never  tell  what  motives  actuate  the 
human  breast.  Here,  behind  this  laurel,  we 
shall  be  private." 

The  horseman,  in  blank  amazement,  did  as 
he  was  bid. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  what's  this  mystery  .?  And 
please  tell  me  in  as  few  words  as  you  can. 
Why  are  you  offering  about  three  times  its 
value  for  this  piece  of  Sheraton  ?  " 

Mr.  Newte  was  very  hot,  and  he  felt  the 
blood  in  his  head;  it  danced  in  his  little  sloe- 
black  eves  and  spoilt  their  focus.      He  mopped 


LOT   NO.    39.  133 

his  face  in  a  handkerchief,  then  dried  his  hands. 
Only  a  great  thought  of  the  community  sup- 
ported him  at  this  crisis. 

"  The  matter  lies  in  a  nutshell,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  a  friend  at  London  who  deals  in  old 
furniture.  Thinking  of  his  interests  —  for  the 
interests  of  others  are  usually  my  interests  —  I 
mentioned  this  piece  of  Sheraton,  and  gave 
him  a  close  and  accurate  description  of  it.  He 
was  overjoyed ;  he  blessed  me  by  letter.  A 
wealthy  patron  owned  an  exactly  similar  piece 
and  wanted  another  to  match  it.  Money  was 
literally  no  object.      Need   I   say  more .?  " 

"  Yes,  you  need,"  answered  the  other.  "  Tell 
me  your  limit?  It  will  save  time.  There's 
nothing  so  amazingly  uncommon,  either  in  make 
or  charm,  about  this  thing.  There  are  dozens 
in  England  approximately  like  it.  Your  friend 
named  a  limit  naturally.     What  was  it  ?  " 

The  pastor  reflected  before  replying.  He 
wiped  his  hands  again  ;  then  he  sighed  deeply, 
and  showed  an  inclination  to  return  to  the 
crowd. 

"  I'm    cut   to   the   heart   to   treat   you    in    this 


134  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

way.  I  can  hardly  credit  myself  with  strength 
of  purpose  to  do  it.  Yet  my  duty  to  my  friend 
—  that  is  sacred  naturally.  I  would  lay  down 
my  life  for  my  friend.  In  fact,  the  auction  had 
better  take  its  course." 

"  My  candid  opinion  is  that  you're  a  rogue," 
said  the  Squire,  bluntly.  "  As  you  please ; 
we'll  have  this  out  in   broad   daylight." 

He  returned  to  the  villagers,  who  showed 
breathless  interest.  A  few  had  already  con- 
gratulated Crab   Hatherley  and   his   grand-niece. 

"  Now  us'll  see  whether  Johnnv  Fortnight's 
pocket  be  so  deep  as  an  anointed  Lard's,"  said 
Tim  Blake  to  another  labourer,  "  Thank  God, 
Squire  didn't  want  my  dogs  ;  but  I  shivered  for 
'em,   I   do  assure  'e." 

"Your  dogs!"  cried  Mr.  Bridle.  "You 
ninnyhammer !  Why,  us  could  buy  a  pack  of 
they  joanies  in   Newton  for  half-a-crown." 

"  A  hundred  pounds  for  that  cabinet,"  said 
Sir  Archer;  "so  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  Guineas,"   sighed   Mr.   Newte. 

There  was  a  sound  of  a  sad  autumnal  wind 
in  his  voice. 


LOT   NO.    39.  135 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  !  " 

"  Guineas." 

"  Two  hundred  !  " 

"  Guineas." 

Every  bid  was  a  dagger  in  the  pastor's 
heart ;  in  that  each  advance  meant  fifty  pounds 
less  for  the  community.  Silent  amazement  sat 
on  every  face.  Mr.  Michelmore  raised  his 
hammer  slowly  and  looked  at  Sir  Archer. 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty,"   said  the  knight. 

His  anger  was  rising,  though  he  held  him- 
self well  in  hand.  Further  he  did  not  propose 
to  go  ;  but  he  itched  to  lay  his  horse-whip  across 
the  round  red  face  of  his  adversary. 

"I  regret  to  have  to  do  it,  but  —  guineas," 
murmured  Mr.  Newte. 

"  Then  go  to  the  devil,  and  let  him  give 
you  good  of  the  trash  —  you  and  your  precious 
friend  too,  and  the  fool  who  .wants  it !  "  roared 
Sir  Archer.  "  There's  a  lie  somewhere.  I  can 
see  it  on  your  ugly  face.  And  look  to  your 
money,  Hatherley ;  see  you  get  every  farthing 
out  of  him." 

He    rode    away    with    action    so    abrupt    that 


136  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Tim  Bhike,  who  stood  beside  the  gate,  was 
overthrown  in  his  haste  to  escape  Sir  Archer's 
charger.  There  was  a  loud  crack,  and  Tim  in 
agony  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket  and  brought 
forth  a  shattered  dog.  The  Knight  swept  out 
of  sight,  ignorant  of  the  disaster  he  had  caused. 
Tim  grew  very  white,  and  his  lower  lip  trem- 
bled. He  tried  to  hide  his  emotion,  and  flung 
away  the  broken  fragments. 

"  Theer'U  awnly  be  wan  dog  for  mother 
now,"  he  said ;  "  but  her'll  knaw  as  I  bought 
two  an'  paid  sevenpence  for  'em." 

Elsewhere  Mr.  Michelmore's  hammer  had 
fallen.  A  babel  of  voices  echoed  from  the 
great  grey  front  of  Compton  Castle.  Many 
congratulated  Mr.  Hatherley ;  some  asked  ques- 
tions of  Pastor  Newte.  But  he  was  deep  in 
thought  —  calculating  the  odd  shillings.  Heavy 
disappointment  sat  upon  his  face,  for  that  day 
the  community  had  been  deprived  of  more  than 
two   hundred  and  sixtv-two   pounds. 

"  The  ways  of  Providence  are  like  the  path 
of  the  lightning  on  the  thunder-cloud  —  entirely 
past  our  finding  out,"  he  said.     "  Oh,  my  friends, 


LOT   NO.    39.  137 

do  not  forget  the  Squire  of  this  parish  when  you 
go  upon  your  knees  to-night.  We  have  seen 
how  the  highest  in  the  land  can  fall  under  the 
dominion  of  the  Evil  One.  We  have  wit- 
nessed the  sins  of  rage,  of  covetousness,  of 
envy,  hatred,  and  malice,  displayed  by  a  Knight 
and  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  told  me  to  go 
to  the  devil,  my  friends;  he  condescended  to 
criticise  my  personal  appearance.  Yet,  plain  as 
it  has  pleased  God  to  make  me,  I  would  not 
exchange  my  homely  visage  for  his  patrician 
features  as  we  saw  them  distorted  by  wicked 
passions." 

The  sale  concluded,  and  upon  its  termina- 
tion, followed  by  excited  and  chattering  people, 
Crab  Hatherley  conveyed  Mr.  Newte's  treas- 
ure in  a  wheelbarrow  to  the  pastor's  dwelling. 
Immediately  in  the  rear  walked  Alpheus  him- 
self, with  the  bearing  of  chief  mourner  at  a 
funeral. 

"  There  you  are,  an'  much  good  may  it  do 
you,  my  holy  hero,"  said  the  old  man  as  he 
set  down  his  burden  in  the  other's  parlour. 
"  And  money  on  the  nail,  please." 


ijb-  IHE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  You  shall   have  my  cheque  to-morrow." 

"  No  fay  !  I  shan't  take  no  writin'.  I  want 
the  stuff.  You  said  to  your  chapel  last  Sunday 
week  as  you  was  fed  like  Elisha  by  the  ravens, 
and  waited  'pon  Heaven  for  your  bit  an'  sup 
day  by  day.  Best  send  a  raven  for  thicky 
money,  I  must  have  it  in  gold  or  notes,  as  be 
so  gude  as  gawld ;  an'  I  be  gwaine  to  have  it 
this  very  day,  or  I  doan't  leave  the  cabinet. 
Squire  said  I  was  to  see  as  I  got  the  money ;  an' 
so  I  will,  or  else  I'll  go  to  him." 

"So  be  it.  You  shall  have  the  money  if  you 
will  return  to  me  within  an  hour." 

Old  Hatherley  retired,  and  Mr.  Newte,  lock- 
ing his  door  and  pulling  down  his  window-blind, 
found  himself  alone  with  the  old  cabinet.  He 
shook  his  head  at  it  and  spoke. 

"  Wretched,  inanimate  object !  "  he  said,  "  if  I 
gratified  my  personal  inclinations  —  a  thing  I 
never  do  —  I  should  tear  you  limb  from  limb  and 
hammer  you  into  matchwood.  But  no  such 
destruction  awaits  you.  I  will  explore  your  hid- 
den secrets,  in  the  interest  of  the  community  ;  I 
will  pay   this  cross-eyed   harpy   his  money,  and. 


LOT    NO.    39.  139 

having  emptied  you,  1  will  endeavour  yet  to 
effect  an  understanding  with  that  benighted  aris- 
tocrat at  Upper  Marldon.  Listen  to  reason  he 
will  not  to-day  or  to-morrow  ;  but  we  must  wait 
upon  him  when  he  has  cooled." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    POWER    OF    WORDS. 

THERE  was  but  one  entrance  to  the 
cottage  where  Mr.  Newte  had  taken 
his  lodgment,  and  now  Crab  Hatherley, 
with  a  few  admiring  friends,  waited  outside  and 
watched   it. 

He  Hghted  a  pipe  and  puffed  thereat,  but 
said  Httle  to  those  about  him  and  answered  no 
questions. 

And  meantime  the  pastor  was  not  idle.  With 
a  poker  he  shattered  the  lock  of  the  cabinet,  and 
soon  rested  his  eyes  upon  the  interior.  There 
reposed  two  little  socks  and  a  bundle  of  papers. 
But  these  did  not  detain  him  ;  he  fumbled  for  the 
secret  spring,  pressed  it,  and  revealed  that  inner 
receptacle  where  Granny  Hatherley's  noble  be- 
quest to  her  son's  child  was  hidden. 

"  Two  hundred  and  sixty-two  pounds  ten  shil- 
lings for  an  evil  old  man  and  a  silly  girl,"  mur- 
mured   Mr.    Newte.     Then    he   plunged    in    his 

140 


THE    POWER    OF    WORDS.  141 

hands  to  clasp  and  crackle  the  wealth  spread 
beneath  ;  but  his  fat  fingers  came  empty  into  his 
palms,  for  the  secret  drawer  contained  nothing. 
Frantically  the  pastor  poked  and  probed  into 
every  recess  ;  then  he  dragged  the  receptacle  out 
of  the  cabinet  and  placed  it  upon  his  table ;  but 
not  so  much  as  a  speck  of  dust  remained  within 
it.  The  man  started  and  his  fat  face  grew  pale ; 
he  explored  the  recesses  of  the  cabinet  without 
success,  realised  that  the  money  was  gone,  and,  in 
a  moment  of  passion,  hurled  the  little  masterpiece 
of  Sheraton  into  a  corner.  But  his  self-control 
instantly  returned.  He  stood  silent  a  moment 
staring  at  nothing,  then  lifted  up  his  voice  and, 
albeit  no  audience  save  the  unseen  attended  upon 
him,  spoke  aloud. 

"  Oh,  the  community  !  "  he  gasped.  "  This  — 
this  is  a  terrible  blow  for  the  community.  Naked 
came  I  into  the  world,  and  naked  shall  I  depart 
out  of  it ;  but,  alas,  the  community  !  " 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  reflect  upon  the 
difficulty  of  his  position.  Either  the  old  woman 
herself  or  some  other  person  had  removed  the 
money.     He  examined  the  cabinet  where  he  had 


142  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

thrown  it,  to  find  that  the  back  had  fallen  out  and 
the  mechanism  of  the  secret  drawer  was  revealed. 
The  upper  compartments  of  the  receptacle  were 
still  secure,  but,  upon  removal  of  their  hind  wall, 
any  person  might  have  access  to  the  secret  cham- 
ber below.  The  pastor's  quick  mind  began  to 
see  light.  His  first  thought  was  an  orderly 
retreat;  his  second  idea  came  nearer  to  his  own 
character.  He  tidied  himself,  repaired  to  his 
bedroom,  washed  his  hands,  and  brushed  his 
black  hair.  Then  he  hammered  the  back  of  the 
cabinet  into  place  and  set  the  thing  upon  a  chair, 
but  its  empty  secret  drawer  he  left  on  the  table. 
And  thus  he  awaited  Crab,  for  the  effect  of  the 
secret  drawer  upon  the  old  labourer  must  decide 
Alpheus  Newte's  next  action.  It  would  at  least 
tell  him  whether  Mr.  Hatherley  had  the  money. 
He  sat  still  and  felt  his  pulse.  It  revealed  that, 
though  his  mind  was  steady  as  a  rock,  the  sensa- 
tional incidents  of  the  day,  together  with  this 
tremendous  climax,  had  told  upon  his  body.  His 
heart  was  tired-out  and  throbbed  very  weakly. 
There  was  brandy  in  a  cupboard,  and  the  good 
man  helped  himself  generously,  then  returned  to 
his  easy-chair  and  his  thoughts. 


THE    POWER    OF   WORDS.  143 

Punctually  upon  an  hour's  expiration  Crab 
Hatherley  entered,  and  the  other  rose  and  locked 
the  door  behind   him. 

"  Us'll  have  blind  up  if  'tis  all  the  same  to 
you.      I   doan't  like  dealin's  in  the  dark." 

"Indeed?  You  say  that.^  Now  I  should  have 
thought  that  the  powers  of  darkness  would  have 
suited  you  much  better  than  honest  daylight," 
returned  the  pastor.  "  Leave  the  blind  alone, 
please.  We  can  see  very  well.  For  your  own 
sake  I   should  suggest   that  it  was  kept  down." 

But  Crab  did  not  hear.  He  had  caught  sight 
of  the  secret  drawer  upon  the  table,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  with  rage  as  he  pointed  to  it. 

"Theer!  Theer!  I  knawed  as  much!  I  guessed 
it  fust  moment  you  said  as  you  wanted  cabinet ! 
Oh,  you  damnable  man  of  sin  !  You  scorpion  ! 
If  I  was  stronger  in  the  thighs,  be  cursed  if  I 
wouldn't  hale  you  all  around  Marldons  for  this  ; 
an'  tan  the  hide  off  you ;  an'  shake  your  gert 
yellow  false  teeth  down  your  lying  throat,  s'elp, 
me,  I  would  !  " 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Mr.  Newte.  "  Restrain  your 
profanity  and  sit  down.      Here  we  are  faced  with 


144  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

one  of  those  occasions  where  appearances  combine 
to  deceive.  I  have  always  said  that  appearances 
are  deceitful.  Now  you  can  judge  for  yourself 
if  I    am   not   right." 

"You  knawed  'bout  that  drawer  an'  the  money. 
Ban't  no  use  you  sayin'  you  didn't.  I  can  see 
it  in  your  fat,  foxy  faace.  You  knawed  all  the 
time  !  " 

"And  so  did  you,  Mr.  Hatherley.  Yes,  you 
found  it  there ;  and  took  it  away.  1  frankly 
admit  that  I  expected  to  find  it.  Your  sister 
revealed  the  secret  to  me.  She  had  my  oath, 
dear  woman,  that  I  would  tell  no  living  soul 
until  the  right  moment.  But  when  I  got  there 
the  cupboard  was  bare ;  and  so  the  poor  com- 
munity had  none.  Yes,  Crab  Hatherley,  that 
money  was  left  by  your  departed  sister  to  do 
good  to  others  —  not  to  you.  I  have  her  last 
will  and  testament  in  my  heart  —  yet  a  robber,  a 
Pharisee,  a  '  Crab,'  who  would  devour  widows' 
houses,  has  come  between  the  dead  and  her 
righteous  disposal  of  her  hard-earned  savings. 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless  point  their  fingers 
against   vou.      You    stand   convicted    before   the 


THE    POWER    OF   WORDS.  145 

angels,  before  God,  and  before  me  of  an  act  so 
black  and  shameful  that  I  don't  know  what  to 
call  it.  It  doesn't  come  under  any  of  the  com- 
mandments, unless  it  be  the  eighth.  Your  soul 
is  damned.  Crab  Hatherlev,  damned  beyond 
human  power  of  salvation.  Such  an  old  man 
too  !  A  prayer  takes  ten  years  to  get  to  Heaven ; 
you  didn't  know  that,  but  I  have  proved  it  over 
and  over  again.  If  you  were  on  your  knees  from 
now  to  the  hour  of  your  death,  there  would  hardly 
be  time  for  you  to  place  your  soul  in  a  position 
where  the  betting  would  be  more  than  evens. 
Heaven  is  long-suffering  and  of  great  goodness, 
but  even  Heaven  draws  the  line  somewhere,  and 
the  righteous  must  not  suffer  in  Paradise  by  hav- 
ing the  unrighteous  rubbing  elbows  with  them. 
I  tell  vou,  abominable  old  man,  that  the  resources 
of  the  Abode  of  the  Blessed  would  be  taxed  to 
their  utmost  to  provide  for  such  as  you.     You 

are  damned " 

"  Be  damned  yourself,  and  shut  your  mouth  !  '* 
answered  the  other  fiercely.  He  had  been  be- 
wildered bv  this  sudden  attack,  and  now  felt 
beyond   measure    incensed    to    find    his    triumph 


146  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

slipping  from  him  before  the  other's  flood  of 
eloquence.  Mr.  Hatherley  had  wit  to  perceive 
that  the  pastor  was  merely  hiding  his  rascality 
behind  words,  but  Crab  could  find  no  vantage 
ground  until  Alpheus  began  to  dilate  upon  the 
next  world.  Here  the  clown  joined  issue,  for  he 
believed  in  no  such  thing.  Beer  and  brandy 
were  his  gods,  the  sole  deities  that  he  knew  or 
desired  to  believe  in. 

"  Give  me  my  money,  and  don't  brazen  out 
your  hookem-snivey  wickedness  no  more,"  he 
roared.  "  Two  hundred  an'  sixty-two  pound  ten 
shillin'  I  want  afore  I  leave  this  room.  Gimme 
that;  an'  as  for  hell,  you'll  be  theer  afore  me  yet 
if  you  anger  me,  for,  auld  as  I  am,  I'll  hit  you 
awver  the  napper-case  an'  scat  your  wicked  brains 
all  awver  the  floor  this  instant  moment !  " 

"To  say  so,"  answered  Mr.  Newte,  "is  to 
threaten  assault  and  battery.  I  scorn  it.  In  a 
north-westerly  direction  from  our  present  position 
lies  Dartmoor  —  remote,  unfriended,  melancholy, 
slow.  The  prison  settlement  of  Princetown,  re- 
cently established  on  its  stony  bosom,  is  reserved 
for  those  who   merit  five  or  more  years  of  penal 


THE    POWER    OF    WORDS.  147 

servitude.  Therefore,  have  a  care,  you  aban- 
doned wretch  !  Money  from  me  !  1  stand  here 
for  the  fatherless  children,  and  widows,  and  all 
that  are  desolate  and  oppressed ;  I  represent  the 
women  labouring  with  child,  the  prisoners  and 
captives — the  community,  in  fact.  Money  from 
me  !  I  want  the  money  of  the  dead  from  you, 
Joshua  Hatherley,  rightly  named  Crab  by  the 
unerring  intuition  of  the  vulgar.  I  am  here  to 
squeeze  this  Crab,  to  extract  the  juices  from  him. 
He  shall  render  to  Caesar  the  things  which  be 
Caesar's  ;  and  if  he  doesn't  he  shall  be  locked  up." 

"Aw  jimmery  !  You  say  that  to  me!  An' 
you  to  go  on  your  way  wi'out  a  finger  pointed 
against  you.  You  get  away  behind  words,  like 
a  fitch   behind  its  stink !  " 

"  Let  those  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Newte.  "  Now  you  become  slightly 
more  reasonable.  You  have  your  modest  share 
of  intellect.  Be  thankful.  I  gather  from  your 
last  remark  that  you  see  a  little  of  the  disgraceful 
fix  you're  in.  I  have  only  to  point  at  you  as  a 
man  who  has  a  thousand  pounds  that  don't 
belong  to  him,  and  —  why,  not  a  publican  would 


148  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

serve  you  this  side  of  Plymouth.  You  know 
the  extent  of  my  rounds.  I  have  only  to  say, 
*  Do  not  permit  this  man  to  drink  in  your  public- 
house,'  and  all  stimulant  is  denied  to  you  for 
miles  around.  But  listen;  I  am  not  a  harsh 
man.  I  understand  human  frailties  —  nay,  I  am 
not  devoid  of  them  myself.  One  can  overdo 
well-doing.  We  must  be  just  before  we  are 
generous.     You   follow   me,   Mr.    Hatherley." 

"  Did  her  leave  the  money  to  that  gal .?  " 

"  Great  is  truth,  though  it  does  not  prevail 
nearly  as  often  as  good  books  would  have  us 
believe.  For  myself,  I  practise  it  when  the 
world  will  let  me.  It  is  the  world  that  makes 
men  liars.  Yes,  she  left  all  her  savings  to  the 
orphan    Sibella  —  not   a   penny   to  you." 

"  Damned  auld  cat !  " 

"  She  was  very  wrong  to  forget  her  brother. 
That  is  why,  under  Providence,  I  have  taken 
over  this  trust  in  my  own  person.  You  are 
reallv  a  fortunate  man.  Crab  Hatherley,  for  this 
girl  would  not  have  given  you  a  penny,  whereas 
I  make  you  a  present  of  many  pounds." 

"  If  you  split  on   me   I'll  split  on  you,"   said 


THE    POWER    OF    WORDS.  149 

the  cowed  ancient.  "  I  doan't  knaw  what  the 
deuce  you'm  chitterin'  about.  Your  words  be 
Hke  hail  on  a  slate  roof;  but  so  sure  as  you  say 
a  word  against  me,  I'll  up  an'  tell  what  I  knaw 
against  you." 

"  You  know  nothing  against  me,  except  that 
I  had  to  bid  the  monstrous  sum  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  guineas  to  secure  the  welfare  of  the 
community.  That  will  redound  very  much  to 
my  credit  hereafter,  if  not  here.  But  the  ques- 
tion is,  ¥/hat  course  am  I  to  take  with  you,  Crab 
Hatherky  ?  Nothing  is  gained  in  these  sad 
cases  by  publicity  or  by  harshness.  My  own 
unvarying  rule  has  ever  been  to  treat  every 
fellow-creature  with  gentleness  and  kindness  and 
generosity,  and  never  —  never  to  let  my  right 
hand  know  what  my  left  hand  doeth.  The 
instincts  of  a  lifetime  will  not  desert  me  at  this 
crisis.  1  have  no  desire  to  cloud  your  character 
or  make  any  fuss.  A  negotiation  seems  quite 
reasonable  and  not  impossible.  In  this  world 
the  strength  of  the  individual  is  the  strength  of 
the  community.  We  must,  in  fact,  give  and 
take.      It  is  the  law  of  nature  and  of  heaven.      I 


150  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

may  also  remind  you  that  without  witnesses  men 
have  to  trust  to  good  faith." 

"  You'll  make  a  bargain  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  possible  if  you  can  trust  me." 

Mr.  Hatherley's  face  began  to  assume  an 
exceedingly  crafty  expression. 

"Shows  you've  a  shaky  case,  however,  if 
you'll  do  that.  I  wish  to  God  I'd  got  more 
brains  —  then  I'd  awverthrow  'e.  'Tis  just 
your  blasted  cunnin'  be  tu  gert  for  my  honesty." 

"You  may  think  yourself  fortunate  that  I'm 
a  Christian,  and  invariably  turn  the  cheek  to  the 
smiter.  Go  if  you  like  —  leave  me  —  take  your 
dastardly  robbery  away  and  ask  your  friends 
about  it.  I  do  not  mind.  I  know  you  have 
the  money,  and  I  know  well  how  to  recover  it ; 
but " 

"  No  need  to  say  no  more,"  responded  the 
other,  sulkily.  "I  give  you  best;  you'd  talk 
the  leg  off  a  horse.  I  caan't  cope  with  'e.  Say 
halves  an'  have  done  with  it." 

Alpheus  Newte  pondered  this  proposal.  The 
question  was  solely  the  amount  of  Crab  Hath- 
erley's intelligence  and  consequent  power. 


THE    POWER    OF   WORDS.  151 

"No,"  he  said  at  last.  "You  are  unreason- 
able. '  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be 
wise.'  You  do  not  in  the  least  know  the  value 
of  five  hundred  pounds.  Your  design  and  ambi- 
tion apparently  is  to  drink  yourself  to  death. 
Well,  better  men  than  you  have  done  it  —  on 
much  less  money.  Beer  and  spirits  may  be 
procured  in  enormous,  fabulous  quantities  for 
a  comparatively  small  outlay.  I  admit  that  you 
have  a  right  to  demand  good  quality.  But  the 
best  malt  liquor  is  cheap  ;  and  as  for  spirits,  if 
you  want  to  prolong  life,  as  well  as  enjoy  con- 
tinued intoxication,  you  will  avoid  them.  I  offer 
you  one  of  two  things  :  I  will  take  all  the  money 
and  give  you  ten  shillings  a  week  for  the  rest  of 
your  life ;  or  I  will  place  in  your  hand  two  hun- 
dred pounds.  I  may  point  out  that  there  are 
no  alternatives.  It  is  that  or  nothing  ;  because 
if  you  reveal  the  existence  of  the  money,  I,  on 
my  side,  must  announce  that  it  was  left  for  a 
specific  object.  It  is  only  my  personal  regard 
for  you,  as  a  lost  sheep,  which  prompts  such  an 
offer.  You  understand  that  we  feel  more  joy 
over    one    sinner    which     repenteth     than     over 


152  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

ninety-nine  just  persons.  There  are  not  ninety- 
nine  just  persons  in  Lower  Marldon,  but  that 
is  by  the  way.  The  sum  of  two  hundred  pounds 
will  place  you  above  the  necessity  of  any  more 
work.  At  your  advanced  age,  it  might  be 
permissible  for  you  to  live  upon  your  capital. 
Spend  a  pound  a  week  if  you  like.  And  if,  at 
the  end  of  the  four  years,  you  are  still  alive 
and  responsible  for  your  actions,  I  will  give  you 
a  little  more  money.  Upon  my  word  of  honour 
I  will." 

"  Make  it  two  hundred  and  fifty,"  begged  the 
old  man.  "  I  ban't  long  for  this  world,  an'  I've 
worked  more'n  sixty  years  for  two  shillin'  a  day. 
'Tidn't  vitty  as  I  should  do  any  more  work." 

"  Two  shillings  a  day  for  sixty  years  repre- 
sents an  enormous  sum  of  money,  though  I  am 
not  mathematician  enough  to  calculate  it  in  my 
head.  You  ought  to  have  saved  and  be  assisting 
your  poorer  neighbours  to-day.  However,  you'll 
have  to  settle  that  with  the  recording  angel." 

"  Make  it  two-fifty  an'  let  it  be." 

"Very  well,  I'll  give  you  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty   you   ask  and  more,"  answered  the   pastor, 


THE    POWER    OF    WORDS.  153 

suddenly  moved  by  a  shrewd  inspiration.  "  I'll 
pay  you  the  sum  I  bid  for  the  cabinet,  on  the 
condition  that  you  leave  this  neighbourhood  and 
go  and  settle  twenty  miles  away  from  it." 

"  So  I  will  then.  I  don't  care  a  curse  for  the 
place,  nor  yet  the  people,  and  I'd  so  soon  be 
out  o'  sight  o'  Orchard  Farm  as  not.  Baan't  a 
yard  of  their  damned  acres  my  sweat  haven't 
watered." 

"  I  perspire  freely  myself,  and  it  is  a  sign  of 
grace  and  a  means  of  health,"  said  Mr.  Newte. 
"Very  well,  then;  I'll  come  home  with  you  and 
get  the  money.  I  wish  I  thought  you'd  put 
your  share  of  it  to  a  worthy  purpose,  but  you 
won  t. 

"Ah,  Johnny  Fortnight,"  sighed  Mr.  Hather- 
ley,  "  what  'tis  to  have  the  gift  of  tongues  an*  a 
hide  of  brass.  I  knaw,  so  well  as  I  knaw  the 
sun  be  settin',  that  you've  bested  me  this  day, 
yet  for  the  life  of  me,  my  brains  do  grow  that 
mazed  I  can't  tell  wheer  to  have  'e.  Theer's 
dark  dealin'  somewheers,  yet  be  blessed  if  1 
know  how  to  get  upsides  wi'   your  tongue." 

"  It  cannot  be  done,  brother  Hatherlev.      For 


154  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

why  ?  Because  I  wear  the  breastplate  of  right- 
eousness and  am  shod  with  Truth." 

"  Shod  wi'  the  dowl'  awn  shoon,  if  ye  ax  me. 
An'  what  'bout  thicky  cabinet  ?  " 

"  The  piece  of  Sheraton  ?  Why,  that  is  mine 
surely.      Haven't  I  paid  enough  for  it  ?  " 

"  Theer's  another  thing  —  she,  that  blessed  gal 
Sibella.  She  was  to  have  all  the  money  from 
the  auction,  but  promised  me  half  of  it.  I  ban't 
gwaine  to  share  this  'ere  money  with  she  !  " 

"  Well,  from  the  point  of  view  of  old  Mrs. 
Hatherley,  she  was  to  have  all,  but  we  have 
agreed  that  the  ancient  woman  was  wrong. 
Leave  Sibella  to  me.  I  will  look  after  her,  and 
see  that  she  has  what  is  better  than  money. 
Now  I'll  come  along  with  you  for  that  little 
matter  of  filthy  lucre  that,  somehow,  slipped  out 
of  this  secret  drawer.  You  found  it  when  you 
were  tidying  up,  no  doubt.  It  must  have  been 
a  great  temptation,  but  I  congratulate  you  that 
you  were  able  to  resist  it.  Be  sure  these  things 
will  go  to  your  credit." 

"  If  I  could  kill  'e  wi'out  being  stringed  up  for 
it,  I  would,"  retorted  the  old  man. 


THE    POWER    OF    WORDS.  155 

"  You  know  not  what  you  say,  Crab  Hather- 
ley.  Here,  take  this  roll  of  blue  papers.  They 
belong  to  Sibella.  I  promised  them  to  her. 
Carry  them  with  you,  please ;  and  don't  forget 
to  give  them  to  her.  Young  Gilbert  was  coming 
here  this  evening  for  them.  Let  me  see,  there 
will  be  a  question  of  some  odd  pounds  and  shil- 
lings in  our  settlement.      I'll  bring  it  with  me." 

He  unlocked  a  cupboard,  took  from  it  a  desk, 
and  out  of  that  a  leathern  purse.  Next  he 
counted  certain  gold  and  silver  coins  into  his 
hand,  returned  the  purse  and  desk,  then  locked 
the  cupboard. 

"  Now  we  will  go  upon  our  way,"  he  said. 
"  But  let  me  see  that  my  Sheraton  cabinet  is  quite 
safe." 

He  unlocked  the  door,  saw  Mr.  Hatherley  out, 
made  fast  his  castle  again,  and  followed  the  old 
man. 

Outside,  Crab  was  cheered  by  a  patient  and 
expectant  party.  "  Hast  got  the  money  ?  "  cried 
two  or  three. 

The  sight  of  Mr.  Newte  caused  laughter. 

"Ah,  Johnny   Fortnight,"  shouted    a    godless 


156  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

young  man,  the  blacksmith  of  the  village,  "  you've 
outreached  yourself  this  time,  my  bold  bwoy. 
I'or  a  chap  in  London  !  Gammon  an'  spinach  ! 
You  was  drunk  to  auction,  that  was  the  matter, 
an'  Squire'll  have  'e  by  the  heels  yet  for  setting 
yourself  up  against  un." 

"This  place,"  said  Mr,  Newte  loudly,  "is  the 
Evil  One's  own  happy  hunting-ground,  I  do 
think.  I  say  it  reluctantly,  but  with  absolute 
assurance.  And  I  will  not  be  called  Johnny- 
Fortnight  any  more  by  you  or  anybody,  Aaron 
Clegg.  You  think  vour  work  is  warm  because 
vou  labour  in  red-hot  iron,  like  Tubal  Cain  ;  but 
wait,  wait,  Aaron  Clegg,  until  the  trump  of  Doom. 
Consider  the  temperature  of  Hell,  miserable 
blacksmith.  Burst  yourself  blowing  your  bel- 
lows and  you'll  never  reach  one  thousandth  part 
of  the  heat  that  rises  from  the  burning,  fiery 
furnace!  Yes,  he  has  got  his  money  —  every 
farthing  of  it  —  and  he'll  tell  you  so.  Go  back 
to  your  forge  and  give  your  vain  soul  to  your 
Maker,  that  He  may  mould  it  on  the  anvil  of 
His  righteousness  as  you  mould  the  shoe  and  the 
tyre." 


THE    POWER    OF   WORDS.  157 

"  Touch  the  man,  an'  words  come  tumblin'  out 
of  un  like  feathers  off  a  goose,"  said  Aaron. 
Then  he  departed  into  the  dark  depths  of  the 
forge,  and  Mr.  Newte,  with  Crab  Hatherley, 
proceeded  to   Compton   Castle. 

Soon  the  disconsolate  ancient  had  produced  his 
little  hoard.  More  bitter  words  passed,  but  the 
inevitable  end  came.  Old  Hatherley  was  left 
with  the  price  of  the  cabinet,  and  Mr.  Newte 
returned  home  richer  by  the  sum  of  seven  hun- 
dred and  thirty-seven  pounds  ten  shillings. 

Later  in  the  day,  over  some  tea,  some  bread- 
and-butter,  and  half  a  boiled  rabbit,  Alpheus 
speculated  as  to  how  Sir  Archer  Baskerville  might 
be  approached  with  the  piece  of  Sheraton.  But 
reluctantly  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  such  a 
step  was  impossible. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A    COSTLY     FLAME. 

LEFT  to  himself,  Mr.  Hatherley  indulged 
I  in  a  flow  of  the  worst  language  at  his 
command.  Only  the  walls  of  Compton 
Castle  heard  him,  and  it  is  unlikely  that  even  in 
the  spacious  times  a  more  unbridled  and  passion- 
ate outburst  of  expletive  had  echoed  against  their 
venerable  stones.  Elizabethan  heroes  at  least 
swore  like  gentlemen ;  but  Crab  Hatherley's 
vituperation  was  of  the  most  uncultured  sort  to 
be  imagined.  He  cursed  for  an  hour;  then  hav- 
ing scorched,  blasted,  defamed,  and  eternally  con- 
demned Alpheus  Newte  to  everlasting  fires,  the 
old  man  felt  that  gentle  lassitude  and  waste  of 
nervous  energy  proper  to  such  an  explosion. 
He,  therefore,  prepared  to  seek  solace  at  the 
"  Unicorn  "  Tavern  ;  but  first  he  flung  off"  his 
black  coat,  donned  out  of  respect  to  the  recent 
auction,  thrust  it  into  an  old  chest  that  contained 
his  sparse  wearing  apparel,  and  put  on  the  famil- 

158 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  159 

iar  earth-coloured  garments  of  his  daily  life. 
Then  he  set  out  to  drown  trouble  according  to 
his  custom. 

Elsewhere  pastor  Newte  completed  a  heroic 
day  with  a  heroic  deed.  Returning  home,  as 
we  have  seen,  and  fortified  to  the  action  by  an 
excellent  meal,  he  considered  the  future  of  the 
Sheraton  cabinet.  In  his  heart  he  longed  to 
take  it  to  Sir  Archer  Baskerville,  but  the  neces- 
sity for  a  continued  web  of  falsehood  alarmed 
him. 

"  To  do  evil  that  good  may  come  is  very  well 
here  and  there,  in  judicious  hands,  though  not  a 
course  to  be  recommended  to  the  majority,"  he 
reflected ;  "  still,  one  has  an  immortal  soul  to 
save  —  I  cannot  disguise  that  fact  from  myself. 
I  may  sometimes  obscure  my  meaning  in  words 
when  addressing  the  common  herd  ;  but  of  course 
I  know  in  my  own  heart  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong — nobody  better." 

He  decided  therefore  that  Sir  Archer  must  be 
left  alone.  As  matters  stood,  Alpheus  had  paid 
the  money  like  a  man  ;  and,  to  avoid  further 
investigation    or   discussion,    it    seemed    good   to 


i6o  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

maintain  the  deception  and  announce  his  cabi- 
net's departure  to  the  metropolis.  But  Mr. 
Newte  did  not  know  anybody  in  London.  He 
looked  from  the  cabinet  to  the  fire ;  from  the 
blaze  upon  his  hearth  back  to  the  cabinet  again. 
He  lighted  his  "  churchwarden,"  and  decided 
future  action  upon  a  pipe  of  tobacco.  A  definite 
deed  seemed  indicated,  but  he  postponed  this 
step  until  after  nightfall,  when  Lower  Marldon 
slept. 

It  was  well  that  he  waited;  for  before  the  good 
man's  pipe  had  been  smoked,  there  came  visitors 
in  shape  of  Sibella  and  Richard. 

Mr.  Newte  greeted  them  tenderly,  almost 
affectionately. 

"  I  have  for  you,  dear  Sibella,  a  memento  that 
I  think  you  will  regard  as  grateful,"  he  said. 
Then  going  to  the  cabinet,  he  produced  all  that 
now  remained  therein :  a  little  pair  of  infant's 
socks. 

"These  touching  relics,  my  child,  appear  to 
have  belonged  to  your  dear  father.  It  is  there- 
fore right  and  proper  that  they  should  be  handed 
to   you.      His    little    feet   once   filled    these    tiny 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  i6i 

receptacles  ;  the  author  of  your  being,  Sibella,  wore 
these  pathetic  Httle  contrivances  upon  his  baby 
toes,  —  about  half  a  century  ago,  I  imagine, — 
if  not  more.  For  his  sake  cherish  them,  and  set 
them  amongst  your  heirlooms.  And  do  not 
forget  the  giver.  I  am  in  a  position,  moreover, 
to  prove  that  they  actually  did  belong  to  William 
Hatherley,  for  I  had  your  grandmother's  word 
for  it.  These  socks  were  among  her  most  valued 
possessions." 

Sibella  thanked  Mr.  Newte,  and  put  the  treas- 
ure into  her  pocket  not  without  emotion  ;  then 
Richard  spoke :  — 

"  And  the  papers  ?  I  suppose  they  were  there, 
too.  The  papers  you  undertook  to  return  to 
me  —  where  are  they?" 

"  You  are  quite  safe,  my  lad.  There  thev  were 
sure  enough,  and  they  await  Sibella  at  her  home. 
Mr.  Hatherley  took  them  with  him  when  he 
went  back ;  and  as  I  returned  to  the  castle  in 
his  company,  you  may  rest  assured  that  they 
are  safe.     You  have  onlv  to  ask  him  for  them." 

Young  Gilbert  regarded  the  cabinet  curiously. 

"I'll   never  believe  you  again,  Newte  —  never, 


i62  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

for  all  your  prayers  and  preaching.  To  say  you 
wanted  a  keepsake  of  the  old  lady,  and  then  give 
hundreds  for  a  man  in  London  !  You're  not  a 
plain  dealer,  and  everybody  in  the  Marldons  will 
know  it  by  to-morrow." 

"  Where's  the  man  I  have  wronged,  Richard  ? 
Tell  me  that.  Was  I  bound  to  offer  more  than 
a  guinea  if  I  could  get  the  cabinet  so  cheaply  ? 
Do  not  you  understand  that  I  was  bidding  with 
somebody  else's  money  ?  I  can  solemnly  swear 
that  I  was,  if  you  like.  I  didn't  want  the  cabinet 
any  more  than  you  did.  I  had  to  do  my  duty  to 
the  community.  But  I  cannot  argue  with  you. 
Let  it  suffice  that  all  is  well  that  ends  well,  and 
let  Him  who  judgeth  motives  decide  the  rest.  I 
may  remark  that  the  man  Crab  Hatherley  shows 
an  inclination  to  keep  all  that  money  for  himself 
Will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  or  a  pipe  of  tobacco  ? 
Neither ;  then  leave  me.  I  have  been  through 
a  very  worldly  day,  a  very  tiresome  and  exasper- 
ating day.  It  is  a  great  source  of  sorrow  to  me 
that  I  have  fallen  out  with  the  Squire  of  this 
parish  ;  yet,  what  would  you  ?  My  duty  to  my 
neighbour  stood  between." 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  163 

"  Sir  Archer  will  never  forgive  you,  that's  a 
certainty,"  declared  Richard  ;  then  he  and  Sibella 
went  on  their  way. 

The  shadows  lengthened  and  night  came 
quickly.  Hours  passed,  and  still  Mr.  Newte 
smoked  and  kept  up  a  good  fire  though  it  was  a 
warm  evening.  But  after  the  last  villager  had 
tramped  down  the  street  past  his  window,  after 
the  steady  snoring  of  the  ancient  woman  in  whose 
cottage  he  dwelt  sounded  down  the  stone  passage 
from  the  kitchen,  Alpheus  set  to  work.  Taking 
off  his  coat,  his  collar  and  his  tie,  removing  his 
linen  cuffs  and  turning  up  the  sleeves  of  a  flannel 
shirt,  the  worthy  man  took  stern  measures  with 
the  ancient  treasure  of  Sheraton,  and  so  dealt  with 
it  that  never  again  might  the  work  of  art  rouse 
discord  or  breed  envy  in  human  breast.  To  be 
plain,  he  broke  its  slender  framework  into  many 
pieces,  and  with  them  fed  his  fire  until  nearly 
midnight.  No  outraged  ghost  appeared  to  pro- 
test against  this  sacrilege ;  and  when  nothing 
remained  but  white  dust  and  ashes,  the  pastor 
spread  his  hand  and  delivered  a  theatrical  bless- 
ing, for  sheer  love  of  the  theatrical.      So  he  re- 


i64  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

tired  to  his  bed,  and  presently  slept  like  a  healthy- 
child. 

But  long  before  this  vandal  deed  Sibella 
and  Richard  had  passed  through  the  gathering 
gloaming  to  Compton.  A  belated  blackbird  sped 
with  shrill  chink-chink-chink  from  one  huge  ivy- 
tod  to  another.  Faint  chirrupings  and  rustlings 
overhead  marked  the  sleeping-places  of  the  spar- 
rows ;  bats  with  abrupt  and  zigzag  flight  wheeled 
round  about  the  ruin,  silhouetted  sharply  against 
the  green  western  sky  ;  and  sleep  crept  insensi- 
bly over  all.  A  young  moon,  sailing  aloft  un- 
clouded, already  touched  with  silver  the  polished 
leaves  of  the  laurels  and  ivy,  and  threw  faint 
shadows  upon   the  earth. 

Mr.  Hatherley  was  not  at  home,  and  the 
dwelling-rooms  seemed  so  deserted  and  lonely, 
now  the  auction  had  near  emptied  them,  that 
Sibella  would  not  enter  the  house,  but  chose  to 
wait  for  her  great-uncle  outside  in  the  moon- 
light. She  was  to  abide  at  Compton  for  a 
week,  and  then  take  up  residence  with  a  kins- 
woman at  Higher  Marldon  until  the  details  of 
her   marriage  should  be  complete. 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  165 

Now  boy  and  girl  walked  together  under  the 
castle  walls  in  a  great  shadow,  and  he  dreamed 
the  old  dreams,  and  she  listened  and  believed 
in  the  old  fashion. 

Over  against  them,  ghostly  in  the  pale  light, 
gleamed  the  whitewash  front  of  Orchard  Farm. 
From  the  owl  tree  —  a  pollarded  elm  hard  by 
it — came  the  cry  of  the  wise  bird;  a  watch-dog 
bayed  the  moon,  and  so  still  was  the  night  that 
they  heard  his  chain  clank  as  he  dragged  it 
roughly  after  him. 

"  The  farm  looks-  like  a  white  ghost ;  and 
from  there  the  castle  looks  like  a  grey  one. 
How  the  moonlight  seems  to  suck  away  all 
the  colour  from  the  orchards.  Yet  they  shone 
under  the  sun  this   morning." 

"  Never  mind  them,  Sibby ;  put  your  little 
arm  round  me  —  there." 

"  To  think  we'll  be  married  before  next  apple- 
blossom,   Dick  ! " 

"  Ages  before.  The  cider  that's  making  pres- 
ently will  scarcely  be  ready  for  drinking  at  our 
wedding.  We'll  be  an  old  married  couple  be- 
fore   the    trees    bloom    again.       Mother    showed 


i66  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

me  yesterday  where  you'll  have  to  plant  your 
apple-tree  —  next  to  where  she  set  hers  the  day 
before  she  was  married.  Her  tree  is  a  brave 
one  now  and  a  great  bearer.  You'll  not  mind 
living  with  dear  mother,  Sibella  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Dick,  though  I'm  a  little 
frightened  of  her  sometimes.  She  seems  so 
above  us." 

"  It's  only  because  she's  older  and  has  seen 
more  of  the  world,  and  had  the  sorrow  to  lose 
father.  Widows  such  as  mother,  whose  hearts 
are  so  big  they  can  only  love  once,  grow  into 
tragical  figures  sometimes  —  like  she  is.  I  can't 
explain  what  I  mean,  but  there's  something  ter- 
rible about  the  loneliness  of  mother.  And  to 
know  she'll  always  be  so.  Nobody  —  not  even 
I,  her  own  son  —  can  get  inside  that  loneliness. 
She  goes  and  moves  about  among  the  trees  that 
father  planted.  There's  a  look  in  her  eyes  as 
if  she'd  come  from  seeing  his  spirit  sometimes. 
I   think  she's  only   contented   then." 

"  These  are  the  thoughts  that  make  me 
afraid." 

"  Yet  you  needn't  be.     She's  as  gentle  to  all 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  167 

as  her  voice  is  gentle.  And  always  was  so. 
Her  great  silences  are  part  of  herself.  Father 
understood  them." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  be  such  a  wife  to  you  as 
she  was  to  your  father  !  " 

"  You  will  be,  you  will  be.  D'you  think  I 
don't  know  that  ?  Such  a  wife  as  never  a  man 
had  yet  —  worth  a  thousand  such  husbands  as 
1.  Yet  I'll  try  to  make  you  see  a  little  of  the 
oceans  of  love  I've  got  for  you.  I'll  think  of 
your  happiness  sleeping  and  waking;  I'll  work 
for  you  with  my  hands  and  my  head;  I'll  do 
all  the  Prayer  Book  says  and  a  good  score 
things  it  forgets  to  mention." 

"  It's  all  a  dream.  To  think  that  there  was 
such  a  wonderful  man  as  you  in  the  world,  and 
to  think  that  he  could  come  to  care  for  me ! 
Oh,  Dick,  how  is  it?  I'm  never  tired  of  want- 
ing to  know.  What  did  you  see  to  love  in  a 
poor,  penniless,  ordinary  sort  of  girl  like  your 
Sib  ?  " 

"  I  loved  her  eyes  and  her  hair  and  her  voice 
and  her  laugh,  and  her  gentleness,  and  her 
pluck,  and   her   fondness  for   little  children,  and 


i68  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

—  and  —  and,  best  of  all,  I  loved  her  for  loving 
me.  When  you  find  a  girl  loves  you,  Sib  — 
I  can't  tell  you  what  a  tremendous  sacred  sort 
of  feeling  it  is.  To  think  that  a  living  thing, 
who  never  loved  anybody  before,  and  who 
looked  at  men  as  merely  a  sort  of  different 
creature  with  different  aims  and  interests  and 
ideas  and  needs  —  to  think  that  a  girl  can  sud- 
denly love  you  and  want  you,  and  be  content 
to  give  herself  to  you  and  find  the  world  has 
no  greater  happiness  than  you.  H  I  had  big 
words  I'd  try  to  explain  how  I  felt;  but  I  can 
only  say  that  when  you  loved  me,  and  told  me 
so,  the  very  colour  of  things  changed  and  grew 
brighter.  Love  knocks  the  scales  off  a  man's 
eyes,  Sib.  It's  a  lie  to  say  that  it  puts  rose- 
coloured  spectacles  on  us.  Nobody  really  sees 
clear  till  they're  in  love." 

"  And  yet  they  talk  about  it  like  measles  or 
whooping-cough,  as  if  it  was  a  thing  you  caught 
and  got  over." 

"Nobody  who  loves  properly — as  we  do  — 
ever  gets  over  it.  I'm  positive  of  that.  Wise 
people  don't  laugh  at  it ;  only  little  puny-hearted 


A    COSTLY    FLAME.  169 

wretches  who  don't  know  what  it  really  means. 
It's  an  everlasting  thing,  Sibella ;  and  if  we  live 
to  be  a  hundred  we'll  love  as  we  do  now  —  not 
less,  but  more.     And  if  one  dies " 

"Don't,  Dick  —  don't  say  that.  We  love  too 
much  to  die,  dearest.  Love  like  ours  is  proof 
against  dying.      I  couldn't  leave  you,  Dick." 

So  they  prattled  to  mutual  edification  until 
through  the  night  came  the  sound  of  a  voice 
uplifted,  and  under  the  moon  rose  the  music 
of  Mr.  Hatherley.  He  had  buried  sorrow 
many  a  good  quart  deep  in  Burton  ale;  he  had 
also  buried  equilibrium  of  mind  and  body.  He 
was,  in  fact,  returning  to  his  well-earned  rest 
on  all  fours,  and  his  song  —  an  effusion  not  to 
be  republished  after  the  night  of  fifty  years  — 
happily  required  more  articulation  than  Crab 
had  power  to  bestow  upon  it ;  therefore  the 
words  were  hidden  from  Sibella's  ears.  The 
old  man  brayed  cheerfully,  rolled  to  his  door, 
and  sat  down  on  the  '  upping '-stock  outside  it 
to  collect  himself.  Then  Richard  and  Sibella 
appeared,  took  each  an  arm  of  him,  and  con- 
ducted him  to   his  apartment. 


170  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

He  thanked  them,  but  showed  a  measure  of 
caution  at  sight  of  fellow-creatures  and  relapsed 
into  a  complete  silence.  For  a  moment  Richard, 
supposing  him  to  be  less  intoxicated  than  was 
the  case,  ventured  to  ask  for  the  papers  that 
belonged  to  Sibella  ;  but  Crab,  reminded  of  the 
morning,  fell  promptly  back  upon  evil  language. 
Sibella  thereupon  vanished  ;  and  when  she  had 
gone  her  great-uncle  grew  calm  again,  and  ex- 
plained as  best  he  could  that  the  documents  were 
in  his  coat-pocket  that  morning,  but  had  fallen 
out  somewhere  upon  the  road. 

"  I  looked  for  'em  's  evening,  an'  they  was 
gone  —  God  knaws  wheer  they  be  to.  Better 
lost,  no  doubt,  for  they'd  awnly  tell  some  story 
best  forgot.  All  writing  comed  through  the 
dowl  —  his  awn  idea  to  teach  men  folk  that. 
Thank  God  I  never  larned  —  a  damned  trick 
as'll  land  best  part  o'  the  world  in  hell,  my 
son.  Theer'll  be  some  ugly  reading  come 
Judgment  Day;  but  none  o'  mine,  none  o'  mine. 
Now,  take  off  my  boots,  will  'e  .''  Then  I'll  get 
in   my  bed." 

Richard     obeyed,    and,     ha\'ing    dragged     the 


A   COSTLY   FLAME.  171 

drunkard  to  his  couch,  made  so  bold  as  to 
search  in  Mr.  Hatherley's  pockets  for  the  miss- 
ing papers.  Naturally  he  failed  to  find  them, 
and  so  returned  to  Sibella,  who  awaited  him 
downstairs.  Her  grief  at  his  news  was  not 
small  ;  but  he  inspired  her  with  hope  before 
he  departed,  expressed  confidence  that  the  miss- 
ing documents  must  surely  appear  at  daylight, 
and  promised  himself  to  use  his  best  efforts  to 
win  them  back  for  his  sweetheart  at  the  earli- 
est opportunity  on  the  morrow.  Sibella,  for 
her  part,  undertook  a  close  search,  and  she  was 
diligently  seeking  her  possessions  long  after 
Richard  had  left  her.  But  the  true  hiding- 
place —  her  great-uncle's  Sunday  coat,  in  his 
clothes  chest  —  she  could  not  come  at,  for  he 
never  allowed  anybody  to  enter  his  den,  on  the 
second  story  of  the  castle,  excepting  when  it 
became  necessary  to  assist  him  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER    XL 

GLORY     IN    THE    ORCHARDS. 

WHEN  morning  returned  and  brought 
with  it  sobriety  for  Sibella's  great- 
uncle,  he  still  maintained  his  position 
of  the  previous  night,  and  declared  that  the 
papers  must  have  fallen  from  his  pocket  in  the 
village.  Time,  however,  did  not  reveal  them, 
and  as  the  day  advanced  Sib's  spirits  sank  before 
her  serious  loss. 

For  the  present  it  was  supposed  that  Crab 
Hatherley,  who  had  now  resigned  his  daily 
labours  at  Orchard  Farm,  would  become  care- 
taker at  Compton.  Of  the  castle's  history  he 
knew  nothing,  and  his  great-niece,  who  was 
accustomed  to  conduct  visitors  over  the  ruin 
and  had  its  simple  story  by  heart,  now  set  about 
planting  the  narrative  in  the  mind  of  her  great- 
uncle.  But  he  proved  a  slow  learner,  and  what 
he  committed  to  memory  one  day  had  usually 
slipped  from  him   by  the   next.      Folks   foretold 

172 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  173 

that  his  tenure  in  his  old  home  was  likely  to  be 
short,  and  prophesied  that  as  soon  as  Sibella  left 
Compton  Castle  Sir  Archer  Baskerville  would 
find  it  necessary  to  seek  a  new  guardian  for  the 
ruin. 

In  secret  Mr.  Hatherley  designed  to  disappear 
within  a  few  days  at  most,  and  postponed  his 
payments    to   Sibella   for   that   reason. 

On  a  morning  in  mid-October  the  girl  went 
to  Orchard  Farm,  upon  a  rumour  that  her 
papers  had  been  found  and  taken  by  a  stranger 
to  Totnes ;  but  when  she  reached  the  great 
orchard,  at  this  season  alive  with  busy  workers, 
Richard  met  her  and  informed  her  that  her  hope 
was  vain.  He  had  already  made  investigation, 
and  found   the  report  untrue. 

Under  great  light  from  above  —  a  light  caught, 
echoed,  intensified  from  all  the  glow  and  glory 
of  autumn  foliage  and  autumn  fruit — the  orchard 
basked.  A  pearly  dew  still  lay  heavy  upon  the 
orchard  grasses  ;  and  above  them  the  grey  pillars 
of  this  woodland  fane  stretched  their  bejewelled 
and  bending  boughs.  Through  the  depths, 
barred  with  many  a  sun-glint  and  sheaf  of  light, 


174  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

each  avenue  of  the  outspreading  acres  terminated 
in  dim,  delicious  hazes  of  opahne  blue.  Here 
upon  the  confines  of  the  fruit-lands  was  Autumn's 
breath  made  visible  under  hazel  hedges,  already 
thinning,  and  great  elms,  touched  at  sundry 
points  with  sudden  outbreak  of  yellow  in  the 
midst  of  their  dark  green.  Beneath  the  aisles  of 
the  trees  stole  a  delicate  vapour,  apple-scented  ; 
and  the  very  spirit  of  the  hour  seemed  visible, — 
a  hazy  being  whose  diaphanous  robe  twinkled 
with  diamonds  of  nightly  dew,  was  fragrant  with 
the  odour  of  ripe  fruit.  Little  hills  of  pure  colour 
shone  out  beneath  the  trees,  where  the  apples, 
gathered  up  in  heaps,  awaited  their  journey  to 
the  presses  ;  and  these  mounds  were  shadowless ; 
they  rose  in  triangles  and  cones  of  light  against 
the  weeds  and  grasses  ;  for  each  round  fruit-cheek 
caught  the  brightness  from  its  adjacent  neigh- 
bours and  reflected  the  same  upon  its  own  shin- 
ing skin.  Sunshine  dappled  the  fallen  fruit  into 
small  pyramids  and  islands  and  lakes  of  scented 
red  and  gold  against  the  shadowed  ground;  and 
above  them  leaf  and  fruit  strove  for  mastery  in 
splendour    of  colour.     The    slope    of    the    land 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  175 

added  another  beauty  to  this  vision.  From 
survey  of  the  wealth  fallen  and  to  fall,  a  be- 
holder's eyes  were  lifted  in  mid-distance  to  the 
trees  themselves,  receding  from  him,  where  all 
the  crowns  of  them  were  spread  upward  and 
onwards  over  the  bosom  of  the  hills.  Each  tree 
possessed  its  proper  colour-note  of  lemon  or 
crimson,  sere  or  golden-green.  Fruit  and  foliage 
often  matched  in  this  great  sun-clad  pageant  of 
living  flame,  and  a  riotous,  unrecorded  splendour 
glowed  like  a  nimbus  over  the  round  heads  of 
each  old  patriarch,  where  the  whole  woodland 
temple  of  them,  in  high  festival,  poured  forth 
garnered  wealth  of  colour  and  sweetness  to  its 
deity.  A  notable  pagan  atmosphere  marked 
the  moment ;  Pomona  moved  invisible  under 
the  uplifted  boughs ;  while  each  gnarled  and 
crooked  branch,  whose  fruit  was  nested  in  grey 
lichens,  each  spray  of  younger  wood,  that  bent 
with  graceful  bow  earthward  under  bossy  weight 
of  its  coral  and  amber  and  orange-streaked 
harvest,  made  obeisance  to  the  goddess.  Every 
tree  seemed  at  once  a  pillar  of  the  temple  and 
a   worshipper    therein ;    the    great   orchard   swam 


176  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

away  into  distance  with  all  its  mellow  harmonies  ; 
it  retreated  and  faded  and  covered  itself  with 
haze,  until  all  the  mingled  colours  merged  into 
a  cloth  of  pale  gold,  laid  upon  the  shoulders  of 
the  hills.  Above,  silver  stubbles  were  vanishing 
under  the  ploughs  of  the  husbandmen  ;  red  fur- 
rows ascended  to  the  sky-line,  and  grain  hidden 
there  already  felt  the  thrill  of  earth,  and  waited 
only  for  the  rain  to  pulse  an  answer.  Roots 
swelled  to  their  round  maturity  ;  oak  and  beech 
scattered  their  harvests ;  every  hedgerow  and 
dingle,  every  river-valley  and  forest  dell  teemed 
with  their  proper  treasure  of  berries  black  and 
red,  of  seeds  that  fell  and  down  that  floated,  of 
aigrettes  and  tassels  and  cups  and  cones,  all 
brimming  with  the  store  and  profit  of  the  year. 
Hidden  in  the  lap  of  the  Mother  the  birds'  eyes 
brightened,  and  the  squirrel  and  the  red  mouse 
gloried  in  their  garners ;  under  ten  thousand 
apple-trees  and  over  miles  of  ruddv  land,  man 
plucked  or  dug  his  produce  with  gladness  ;  hope 
reigned  triumphant  for  the  fleeting  moment. 
Beneath  this  sunlit  hour  the  cares  and  fears  of 
husbandry  were  forgotten  ;  and   the  very  echo  of 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  177 

the  cooper's  mallet  on  the  cider-barrel  rang 
merry  rather  than  melancholy,  for  it  chimed 
with  the  shout   and   laughter  of  happy  children. 

Richard  presented  his  lady  with  a  plump  rus- 
set, harsh  of  rind,  but  sweet  and  sugary  within. 
As  she  nibbled  it  and  bewailed  her  loss,  for  time 
by  no  means  lessened  the  maid's  sorrow  at  this 
misfortune,  there  came  towards  them  Mary  Gil- 
bert. She  moved  slowly  where  ladders  stood 
against  the  trees,  and  invisible  hands  dropped 
fruit  into  outspread  aprons.  She  walked  so  that 
her  foot  should  not  bruise  the  least  dwarfed  and 
ruined  appleling  that  had  met  misfortune  and 
failed  of  its  blossomed  hope.  She  loved  them 
all,  and  regarded  each  tree  and  each  mound  of 
fruit  as  a  mother  looks  at  her  last-born.  And 
now  she  put  her  hands  on  Sibella's  shoulders, 
and  their  sun-bonnets  met  over  a  soft  kiss. 

"  Good-morning  to  you,  li'l  maid,"  she  said. 
"  So  sweet  and  fresh  as  a  ripe  apple  yourself, 
though  sorrow's  clouding  your  eyes  yet,  I 
seem." 

*'  'Tis  the  papers,  dear  mother.  I  was  in  a 
flutter  of  hope    they'd   been    found.      But   'twas 


178  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

false  news.  Dick  proved  that  my  loss  had  noth- 
ing to   do  with   the  matter." 

"  You  must  give  them  up  and  count  upon 
your  share  of  happiness  without  them." 

"  Yet  'tis  hard.  They  would  have  told  me 
where  my  mother  came  from  and  all  about  her, 
belike.  Such  a  power  of  pleasant  thoughts  were 
waking  at  the  very  dream  of  it ;  and  now  a 
dream  it  will  always  be." 

"  You'll  know  as  much  as  most  in  like  case. 
You  had  a  mother,  an'  we'll  be  happy  an'  con- 
tent to  think  she  was  so  good  an'  blithe  an' 
bonny  as  yourself.  Please  God  a  measure  of 
happiness  fell  to  her  when  she  first  cuddled  you 
an'  looked  on  your  face ;  we'll  be  glad  to  see 
her  again  in  you.  Dream  on  about  her ;  an' 
dream  she  was  very  good  an'  very  fair,  an'  a 
winged  angel  now,  not  further  from  'e  than  the 
fruit  shining  overhead." 

Sibella  stared  with  all  her  blue  eyes,  and  even 
Dick  looked  astonished.  It  was  seldom  Mary 
Gilbert  spoke  so  many  words  in  a  day  as  she 
had  within  a  minute  now.  The  scent  of  the 
apples  touched   her   heart  and   it  was  full.      She, 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  179 

too,  could  dream,  and  now  in  this  returned 
pomp  of  the  apple  harvest  it  seemed  to  her  that 
her  husband  was  ahve  again.  He  moved  with 
Hght  footfall  in  every  glade,  and  amid  the  echo 
of  the  voices  she  distinguished  his. 

"  We  make  our  awn  havage,'-'  li'l  maid,"  she 
said.  "  'Tis  not  writ  on  dusty  auld  papers,  but 
in  the  years  of  our  life.  'Tis  we  as  do  throw  a 
light  upon  the  dead  an'  gone,  not  they  upon  us. 
You'll  understand  when  you  are  aulder  an'  wiser 
an'  sadder.  Where  we  be  going  to  is  the  mat- 
ter;   not  where  we  be  come  from." 

She  moved  away  among  the  distant  workers, 
and  left  her  son  standing  beside  Sibella. 

"  Mother  do  seem  a  part  of  all  this,"  he  said. 
"  She's  uplifted  into  many  words  to-day.  Your 
pretty  face  always  brings  a  soft  look  into  her 
eyes.  Thank  God  she  likes  you  well,  an'  I 
know  you'll  look  to  it  she  never  loves  you  less 
than  now." 

Mr.  Bridle,  smelling  of  apple-juice,  came  from 
a  distant  press. 

"  Where's   missis  ?  "    he   asked,   then   stopped, 

,  *  Ancestry. 


i8o  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

seeing  Sibella,  and  bid  her  good-day.  "  Us  be 
all  grievous  grieved,  I'm  sure,  'bout  they  vexa- 
tious papers.  Awnly  last  night  to  the  '  Unicorn ' 
a  chap  said  as  he  judged  they  must  be  drownded 
deep  in  the  brook,  else  your  offer  of  five  pounds 
for  'em  would  have  surely  brought  'em  back  to 
'e.  'Tis  a  ill-convenient  thing  not  to  knaw  your 
awn  mother's  maiden  name  an'  nation,  though 
for  her  stock,  lookin'  at  you,  I'd  stake  my  Sun- 
day dinner  her  was  English,  an'  that  you'm  the 
living  daps  of  her." 

"  It's  a  very  exasperating  thing,  and  that  old 
fool  ought  to  be  responsible,"  grumbled  Richard. 

"  Nothin'  comes  by  chance,"  declared  Mr. 
Bridle.  "  It  had  to  be,  an'  the  Houses  of 
Parliament  an'  all  the  locks  an'  keys  in  London 
wouldn't  have  kep'  'em  safe  'gainst  the  masterful 
contrivance  of  Jehovah.  But  you'm  none  the 
worse;  you'm  alive,  an'  sound  wind  an'  limb, 
wi'  gude  health  an'  a  far-reachin'  trust  in  Christ's 
mercy.  That's  gude  testimony  to  them  as  got 
you,  blue  papers  or  no  blue  papers.  Words 
can't  make  you  no  better  than  you  be  —  no 
better    nor    worse.        You     knaw     your    faither, 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  i8i 

whether  or  no,  which  hain't  no  small  blessing 
in  this  onruly  world,  an'  often  a  hianied  sight 
harder  than  to  tell  your  female  parent.  A 
Hatherley  you  was,  an'  a  Gilbert  you  will  be  ; 
so  no  call   to  fret,   I'm   sure." 

This  wide  philosophy  comforted  Sibella,  and 
she  moved  along  towards  the  press  amid  a  score 
of  men  and  women  busy  in  and  below  the  trees. 
Richard  knew  the  character  of  the  fruit  only  less 
well  than  his  mother,  and  now  he  talked  learnedlv 
concerning  it,  of  the  properties  peculiar  to  vari- 
eties, of  the  perfect  blends  necessary  for  good 
cider,  and  of  the  healing  and  saving  virtues  un- 
doubtedly possessed  by  that  historic  liquor.  He 
treated  of  '  Tom  Putts,'  '  Bitter  Sweets,'  '  Stub- 
berds,'  and  other  fruits ;  showed  Sibella  trees 
grafted  with  different  scions,  and  surprised  her 
before  the  spectacle  of  two  sorts  springing  from 
one  stem  and  hanging  showers  of  ripe  fruit,  half 
green,  half  crimson,  above  the  same  grev  stock. 
The  harvest  on  these,  if  less  numerous  than  upon 
the  aged  trees,  was  rounder,  larger,  of  richer  col- 
our, and  more  splendid  substance.  Thev  walked 
along,  while    Dick    and    Mr.    Bridle    expounded 


i82  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

apple-lore.  Then  into  the  colour  harmonies, 
growing  greater  out  of  distance,  was  suddenly 
introduced  a  blotch  of  black.  It  developed, 
took  shape,  and  revealed  a  stout  squat  man  with 
a  black  basket  slung  upon  his  shoulder  and  a 
tall  staff  in  his  hand.  Johnny  Fortnight  soon 
stood  beside  Sibella  and  the  rest;  then  he  set 
down  his  load,  mopped  his  face,  and  asked  for 
a  sweet  apple. 

"  You  will  recollect  how  the  burden  rolled  from 
the  shoulders  of  Christian,  in  the  Pilgrim  s  Prog- 
ress^'' he  said;  "even  so  this  basket,  companion 
of  my  back  these  twenty  years,  is  about  to  roll 
off  it  for  ever.  I  am  giving  up  the  business,  and 
shall  be  your  'Johnny  Fortnight'  no  more,  for 
my  ministry  at  Upper  Marldon  has  become  self- 
supporting,  thank  God.  Henceforth  I  provide 
buttons  for  the  breeches  of  righteousness,  and 
hooks  and  eyes  for  the  stays  of  salvation.  Of 
course,  this  is  all  an  allegory.  What  are  those 
red  apples,  Richard  Gilbert  ^.  They  look  better 
than  this  one  tastes." 

*'  Try  them,  if  you  please.  We  call  them 
'  cheat  the  boys,'  because  they  are  not  what  they 


GLORY   IN   THE    ORCHARDS.         183 

seem.  Good  in  cider,  but  mighty  bad  in  the 
mouth." 

"  What  a  sermon  hangs  there  !  The  world's 
trees  are  laden  heavy  with  '  cheat  the  boys,' 
Richard;  aye,  and  'cheat  the  girls,'  too,  not  to 
mention  the  men  and  women.  Oh,  let  us  one 
and  all  pray  to  be  kept  from  the  lust  of  the  eye, 
—  but  I'll  spare  you  that  until  next  Sunday. 
Come  to  our  Gospel  Nest  on  the  Sabbath  and 
hear  my  apple  sermon,  will  you  ?  That  is  the 
way  to  preach.  Build  a  foundation  on  what  a 
man  knows  and  touches  in  his  every-day  life. 
Then  upon  it  erect  the  fabric  of  your  discourse. 
So  even  the  fool  cannot  fail  to  understand." 

Mr.  Bridle  took  it  upon  himself  to  answer  this 
statement. 

"  You  discourse  a  deal  too  much,  however,"  he 
said.  "  There's  times  to  talk  and  times  to  be 
shut.  '  The  heart  of  fools  is  in  their  mouth  ; 
but  the  mouth  of  the  wise  is  in  their  heart.'  The 
Preacher,  twenty-sixth  of  twenty-one.  You  see, 
theer  be  others  as  can  quote  Scripture  beside 
you. 

"  Even  so.     Yet  hear  the  Preacher  again,  since 


i84  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

you  are  so  familiar  with  him.  '  The  pipe  and  the 
psaltery  make  sweet  music,  but  a  pleasant  tongue 
is  above  them  both.'  There's  chapter  an'  verse 
for  vours,  John  Bridle.  Put  a  bridle  on  your 
own  lips,  according  to  the  word  of  the  Apostle 
James,  and  mind  your  own  business,  which  is  not 
preaching  to  your  betters,  my  friend,"  retorted 
the  pastor.  Then  he  chattered  on  before  the 
indignant  headman  of  Orchard  Farm  could  make 
any  answer :  — 

"  These  bending  boughs  remind  me  of  a  sad 
story  from  out  Ogwill  way  — sad,  yet  instructive. 
You  won't  remember  Farmer  Clymo  .''  No,  he 
was  before  your  time.  His  day  was  done  and  his 
tragic  family  experiences  at  an  end  thirty  years 
ago.  An  apple-grower,  too,  in  a  large  way  of 
business.  His  cider  may  have  been  sweet  for  all 
I  know,  but  his  temper,  unhappily,  proved  so 
bitter  that  his  good  lady  —  a  virtuous  woman 
until  he  shattered  her  sense  of  right  —  found  life 
impossible  with  him,  and  took  the  law  into  her 
own  hands.  He  awoke  one  morning  to  discover 
her  absent  from  his  side,  and  then,  hastening  to 
seek   her,  found  the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sor- 


GLORY   IN   THE   ORCHARDS.         185 

rows  hanging  by  the  neck  to  an  old  apple-tree. 
She  had  destroyed  herself,  choosing  an  eternity 
of  discomfort,  poor  soul,  rather  than  a  few  more 
years  with  her  husband,  Simon  Clymo.  How 
right  is  the  poet  when  he  says  that  '  it  is  better  to 
bear  the  ills  we  have  than  fly  to  others  that  we 
know  not  of  !  But  the  man,  old  and  cranky 
though  he  was,  found  yet  another  female  to  share 
his  lot.  With  more  courage  than  judgment,  a 
maiden,  not  yet  turned  thirty,  married  him  for 
his  money,  and  expected  soon  to  see  him  safely 
shuffle  oflF  the  stage  of  life  —  a  reasonable  hope  on 
her  part,  seeing  that  the  old  hunks  was  above 
seventy-five  years  of  age.  But  mark  the  sequel, 
and  observe  how  this  unlovely  match  was  frowned 
upon  by  Heaven.  Driven  desperate  under  the 
cruelties  and  brutalities  of  that  disgraceful  old 
man,  the  second  Mrs.  Clymo  gradually  lost  hope. 
Hope  slipped  from  her  day  by  day.  There  seemed 
reason  to  believe  that  her  spouse  would  live  for 
ever,  whereas  the  wretched  woman,  on  the  con- 
trary, felt  herself  fast  become  old  and  decrepit. 
She  took  to  drink,  while  the  ancient  apple-grower 
drained  away  her  unhappy  life  like  a  vampire, — 


1 86  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

like  a  vampire,  I  say,  —  until  one  dark  winter's 
morning  —  what  happened?  He  awoke  to  find 
his  wife  was  not  beside  him.  A  horrible  thought 
brought  senile  tears  of  joy  into  his  wicked  eyes. 
He  rubbed  them,  crept  from  his  bed,  donned  his 
garments,  and,  impelled  by  a  sort  of,  diabolic 
instinct,  went  straight  forth  into  the  orchard  and 
sought  the  tree  whereon  his  first  wife  had  com- 
mitted suicide.  It  had  been  a  shy  bearer  ever 
since,  by  the  way,  though  prolific  before  the 
tragedy.  But  now,  although  it  was  dead  of 
winter,  fruit  of  a  sort  depended  from  those  ances- 
tral boughs.  Oh,  my  friends,  can  you  guess  what 
hung  there  ?  I  see  by  your  faces  that  you  do. 
Mr.  Clymo's  second  wife  had  followed  the  ex- 
ample set  by  his  first — so  prone  are  we  all  to 
follow  a  bad  example.  The  man  found  himself 
again  a  widower  —  sad  enough,  but  w'orse  remains 
behind.  Within  a  week  from  that  time,  the 
tragedy  being  noised  abroad  and  the  countryside 
ringing  with  it,  old  Clymo  had  no  less  than  three- 
and-thirty  applications,  all  from  married  men,  for 
cuttings  of  his  apple-tree.  These  atrocious  hus- 
bands offered  considerable  inducements,  and  one 


GLORY    IN    THE    ORCHARDS.  187 

went  so  far  as  to  promise  five  golden  guineas  if 
the  possessor  of  that  accursed  plant  would  permit 
him  to  dig  it  up  and  transfer  it,  lock,  stock,  and 
barrel,  to  his  own  farm.  The  depravity  of  the 
human  mind,  Richard  Gilbert !  But  there  came 
certain  indignant  and  virtuous  men  by  night  and 
sawed  down  that  apple-tree,  and  clove  its  boughs, 
and  rent  its  roots,  and  made  firewood  of  it,  very 
properlv.  So  the  old  scamp  never  married  again 
—  though  whether  that  was  because  he  had  lost 
his  tree,  who  shall  say  ?  But  what  a  lesson,  what 
a  whole  series  of  lessons,  I'm  sure  !  " 

They  proceeded  then  to  where  Mrs.  Gilbert 
stood,  framed  in  the  doorway  of  the  cider  mill. 
Her  dress  was  the  colour  of  dry  leaves ;  her 
placid  eyes  were  autumn-lighted. 


CHAPTKR    XII. 

THE   mothi:r.   of  the   apples. 

SUNSHINE  streamed  upon  Mary  Gilber-, 
and  she  stood  stately  as  a  priestess  on  a 
temple's  threshold  framed  in  the  velvety 
darkness  of  the  open  portal.  There  sharp  shadow 
cut  the  sun-glory,  save  where  from  one  crack  in 
the  slate  roof  of  the  mill  a  strong  pencil  of  light 
fell,  and  expanded  into  a  fan  that  touched  the 
huge  shining  screw  of  the  press  with  fire,  and  set 
the  moats  dancing  across  the  gloom.  Without, 
great  heaps  of  brown  "  mock,"  or  crushed  apple, 
lay,  and  silver-spangled  fowls  pecked  the  pips 
out.  Fiery  hot  was  this  mass  from  fermentation  ; 
but  the  apples  already  piled  within  upon  the 
platform,  and  waiting  their  second  crushing,  were 
cool  and  still  half  full  of  cider.  In  the  midst  of 
the  pounding-house  stood  the  press  —  a  giant 
of  huge  oaken  beams  and  massive  struts.  Like 
an  idol  in  some  shrine  the  steel  screw  arose  from 
the    midst,    and    beneath    the   great    head    of   the 


THE    MOTHER    OF    THE    APPLES.     189 

press,  as  upon  an  altar  of  sacrifice,  the  mock  was 
piled  in  successive  layers,  wrapped  and  packed 
firmly  into  great  cloths  of  horsehair.  This 
medium  was  a  noveltv  in  those  davs,  and  many 
old  men  argued  for  the  older  and  inferior  method 
of  packing  the  press  with  straw.  Within  an 
adjacent  building  the  apples  were  being  broken 
for  the  pounding,  and  from  a  broad  wooden  lip 
above  a  trough,  masses  of  the  crushed  fruit 
slithered  and  fell  in  pulp,  while  beneath,  a  horse 
plodded  in  the  dark  and  turned  the  crushing 
mill. 

"We  be  'doubling'  now,"  explained  Mr. 
Bridle,  for  the  benefit  of  Sib.  "  This  mock's 
been  through  the  press  once,  and  we  take  the 
first  squott  and  the  second  squott  together  in 
doubling,  if  you  follow  me.  A  squott  be  a 
pressfu!  of  the  mock  straight  from  the  mill  ; 
but  after  it  has  been  squeezed  once  it  do  fill 
a  smaller  compass,  and  two  squotts  go  to  a 
doubling." 

Philip  Wonnacott  and  Tim  Blake  were  filling 
the  cloths  and  packing  them  neatly  in  the 
frame  used  for  that  jnirpose.      Tim    handlcil   the 


190  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  sclum  "  or  fork,  and  broke  up  the  sweet  brown 
masses  of  mock  fine  again  for  the  second  crush- 
ing, as  a  man  might  break  ground  with  a  spade. 
He  then  scooped  it  up  and  placed  it  in  the 
horsehair  cloths,  where,  first  with  his  naked  fists 
and  then  with  a  heavy  spade,  the  man  Wonnn- 
cott  beat  it  down  hard  and  firm  into  the  cloth 
and  frame.  When  the  pile  was  complete,  and 
a  square  mass  of  apple  pulp  neatly  packed  in 
horsehair  awaited  the  press,  a  peg  was  drawn  out, 
a  brace  of  chains  unloosed,  and  instantly  the 
huge  head  of  the  monster  descended  by  its  own 
weight  and  settled  heavily  upon  the  fruit  below. 
It  sank  with  a  growl  and  grumble,  and  the  bright 
steel  of  the  screw  shone  as  it  spun  round.  Tim 
Blake  flooded  the  "dish"  or  floor  ot  the  press 
with  cider,  and  Philip,  with  a  broom,  swept  the 
channels  clean.  A  heavy,  thick  scent  of  fruit 
was  in  the  air;  the  faces  of  the  men  shone,  the 
eyes  of  Mary  Gilbert  grew  bright,  for  this  was 
the  stage  she  loved:  that  following  upon  packing 
of  the  press. 

"  Now  the  apples  be  going  to  give    up    their 
souls,"  she  said  to  Sibella.     "  The  dust  of  them 


THE    MOTHER    OF   THE    APPLES.     191 

will  soon  be  all  that's  left  after  the  third 
crushing." 

The  juice  came  rippling  from  the  dish  to  the 
granite  trough.  The  black  horsehair  began  to 
glitter  with  moisture  ;  beads  and  bubbles  broke 
out  upon  its  layers;  then  little  spouts  and  trickles 
of  liquid  burst  forth,  until  the  oaken  dish  ran  over, 
and  a  steady  increasing  flow  of  turbid  juice  fell  to 
the  trough  with  a  babble  of  sound  like  a  brook. 
The  woman  watched,  and  joined  her  hands  with  a 
sort  of  quiet  inner  rapture  before  this  familiar  rite. 

"  The  sweetness  they've  drawn  from  the  sun 
and  the  earth,  the  lite  lived  on  tree-top,  the 
mellow  goodness  garnered  up  on  dewy  nights, 
and  at  song  of  birds  singing  in  the  rain  ;  the 
elements  all  doing  their  proper  part  to  make  'em 
perfect,"  she  said,  but  scarcely  for  any  listener. 

"  One  might  say  that  you  shared  their  lives  so 
much  as  a  shepherd  shares  the  lives  of  his  sheep, 
ma'am,"  declared  Mr.  Bridle.  "  The  Mother 
of  the  Apples,  old  maister  used  to  call  'e,  an*  so 
you  be.  The  secrets  of  the  trees  han't  hidden 
trom  vou,  an'  their  good  a?i'  their  evil  is  vour 
good  an'  evil.      You   know,  like  a   hoK'  jirophet, 


192 


THK    UOOl)    RKl)    EARTH. 


when  temperature's  below  dew-point  of  a  night, 
an'  the  sun  'pon  your  cheek  in  a  May  dawn  tells 
how  quick  he's  warming  the  hearts  of  the  young 
blossoms  an'  getting  the  better  of  the  nightly 
frosts.  Ess,  you'm  the  Mother  ot  the  Apples, — 
leastways,  of  the  apple-trees,  —  an'  our  orchard'^^ 
have  done  vou  credit  this  year,  for  never  I  seed 
no   braver  crop  in   the   South    Hams." 

A  great  lever  had  been  inserted  into  the  press. 
It  was  of  solid  ash,  and  upon  it  many  names 
of  those  who  had  laboured  through  past  cider- 
making  seasons  were  cut  by  the  vanished  hands. 
It  dated  back  twenty  years,  and  first  among  the 
inscriptions  came  that  graven  there  by  Richard's 
father  when   the  lever  was   new. 

Tim  Blake  pulled  Sibella's  sleeve,  and  pointed 
to  a  name  freshly  set  upon  the  wood  with  the 
date  of  the  previous   year. 

" 'Tis  Mark,"  murmured  Tim.  "You  see,  he 
was  accounted  strongest  man  as  e\cr  handled  that 
there  gert  beam.  An'  I  axed  un  why  for  he 
didn't  put  down  his  name  along  with  the  rest  of 
us,  an'  he  laughed  his  gert  deep-chested  laugh, 
like  a  horse  neighing,  an'  said  as  he'd  do  so  this 


THE    MOTHER    OE   THE    APPLES.     193 

year.  He  died  two  months  agone.  Auld  bull 
at  Truscott's  got  un  in  a  corner  for  all  his  gert 
strength  an'  horched  un  something  cruel.  So 
I've  cut  his  name  there,  begging  pardon  from 
everybody,  I'm  sure,  to  be  a  sign  an*  token  till 
Domesday  that  Mark  worked  along  wi'  us  last 
year. 

Only  a  fitful  rise  and  fall  of  words  broke  in 
upon  the  rhythmic  pulses  of  repeated  sounds. 
There  was  hard  breathing  of  men  at  the  lever; 
regular  clink,  clink  of  a  catch  in  a  cog-wheel 
while  toilers  strained  at  the  great  beam  and 
crushed  down  the  mock  inch  by  inch  into  smaller 
space;  the  lap  and  chuckle  of  the  cider  rippling 
from   the  dish  to  the  trough. 

At  each  turn  of  the  screw  the  little  river  of 
apple-juice   ran   clearer  and   brighter. 

"  'Tis  the  same  with  humans,  I  judge,"  said 
Mrs.  Gilbert.  "Tighter  the  pinch,  clearer  comes 
the  character  of  the  man." 

Mr.  Newte  dipped  a  horn  mug  and  drank  of 
the  juice  sparingly.  Then  he  sniftcd  the  air  — 
heavy  and  sweet  as  honey,  marketl  the  sweating 
men  with  the  brown  mock  spattered  about  them. 


194  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

sat  him  down  upon  a  barrel  and  addressed  the 
company. 

*'  My  friends,"  he  said,  "apples  are  very  much 
like  human  beings  —  no,  not  another  drop,  Mr. 
Wonnacott;  it  acts  too  sharply  upon  the  system 
taken  in  this  way.  I'll  have  a  sip  of  old  cider 
from  your  runlet  presently.  Apples,  as  I  say, 
are  like  men  and  women.  For  some  you've 
got  to  squeeze  before  you  know  what  thev  are 
made  of;  some  you  can  tell  by  looking  at  their 
faces  whether  they  are  sweet  or  sour ;  and  some 
you  can't  tell  before  you  taste.  Oh,  mv  friends, 
let  us  carry  our  characters  in  our  faces,  like  the 
honest  '  Tom  Putts ' ;  let  it  not  be  said  of  us 
that  we  gave  any  man  a  soul-ache,  that  he  came 
to  us  for  nourishment  or  for  sympathy,  that  he 
found  sourness  when  he  had  a  right  to  look  for 
sweetness." 

"  'Twas  an  apple  what  Eve  gived  to  Adam,  by 
all  accounts,  Maister,"  ventured  Tim  Blake.  "  I 
s'pose  'tweern't  no  little  auld  scrubblv  cider-apple 
as  grawed  theer,  but  a  brave,  sweet  sort  for  the 
table?  Else  the  man  wouldn't  have  gived  way 
to  her.     Though  God  knaws   I  doan't  judge  un. 


THE    MOTHER    OF   THE    APPLES.      195 

I  be  such  a  cruel  hungerer  tor  'em  that  if  I'd  got 
a  wife  an'  her  fetched  along  a  gude,  sizable,  sweet 
apple  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  I'd  be  sartain  sure 
to  have  ate  un,  clothes  or  no  clothes." 

"  More  shame  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Bridle. 

"'Tis  enough  to  make  the  Lard  wish  he'd 
never  created  no  humans  at  all,  when  a  grown 
man  tells  that  wickedness,  I'm  sure,"  put  in  Abel 
Easterbrook,  the  cellar- man,  who  dropped  in  from 
the  cider-racking  hard  by.  He  was  very  old  and 
bald,  and  blinked  always  at  broad  dav,  for  his 
work   mostly   lav   in   candle-lighted  gloom. 

"  Not  so,  Abel  Easterbrook,"  declared  Mr. 
Bridle.  "  To  say  that  be  to  say  that  the  Al- 
mighty should  have  gived  awver  His  work  'pon 
the  fifth  day  instead  of  the  sixth.  'Tis  dictating 
to  Him,  and  a  very  bowldacious  act.  Not  that 
Tim  Blake  be  in  the  right — far  from  it.  All 
the  same,  a  worm  might  so  soon  quarrel  with 
my  boot  as  you  say  what  the  Lard  wishes  or 
what  He  don't  wish." 

Mr.  Newte  spoke. 

"  Poor  creatures  !  "  he  said.  "  Poor  Adam 
and  Eve.      First  they  drcssctl  the  garden  —  then 


196  THE    GOOD    RKl)    EARTH. 

thev  had  to  think  about  dressing  themselves. 
It  all  comes  back,  to  one  thing.  If  they  had 
only  minded  their  own  business,  which  was  to 
keep   Paradise  clear  of  weeds,  then " 

Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  watching  the  cider 
flow.      Now   it   slowly  ceased. 

"  Wonnacott,  Easterbrook,"  she  said;  "come 
—  there's  a  time  and  place  for  everything,  and 
this  is  the  time  and  place  for  making  cider,  not 
making  fun  of  the  Holy  Bible.  Good-morning, 
Mr.  Newte  ;  I'll  thank  you  to  lift  yourself  off 
that  barrel,  for  the  trough's  nigh  full,  and  we 
need  it." 

"We  stand  corrected,"  said  the  pastor,  "more 
especially  myself.  You  have  refreshed  me, 
ma'am,  and  invigorated  me,  cooled  me,  quenched 
mv  thirst.  I  thank  you  —  I  do  more  :  I  bless 
you;  and  I  bless  your  harvest.  Maya  thousand 
thirsty  throats  be  gladdened  by  this  sweet  vintage. 
May  it  strengthen  and  refresh,  delight  the  hearts, 
satisfy  the  stomachs,  and  keep  out  ot  the  heads 
of  those  who  drink  it.  For  myself,  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
I  have  abandoned  the  harmless,  necessary  duties 
of  a  travelling  huckster.      Henceforth   the  jewels 


THE    MOTHER    OF    THE    APPLES.     197 

I  hold  up  to  view  will  not  be  jewels  of  silver  or 
jewels  of  gold,  but  eternal  gems  —  the  reward 
of  the  godly  and  the  faithful  —  priceless,  yet  to 
be  had  for  the  asking.  I  design,  God  helping, 
to  convert  Lower  Marldon.  I  have  already  con- 
verted Farmer  Cloberrv  ;  I  have  also  converted 
his  barn  —  into  a  very  seemly  and  orderly  little 
place  of  worship,  capable  of  containing  eighty 
souls  and  bodies.  Into  the  chinks  between  the 
adults,  children  of  varving  ages  may  be  inserted. 
Do  not  say  you  cannot  come  because  of  the 
children.  There  is  always  room  for  the  children. 
Farewell." 

Mr.  Newte  paddled  away  through  the  apple- 
trees.  The  great  press  was  turned  yet  again,  and 
now  the  lever  had  to  be  chained  to  a  windlass 
and  dragged  back  by  four  strong  pairs  of  hands 
as  the  strain  increased. 

The  trough  had  filled,  and  the  muddv  red 
cider,  only  paler  in  tone  than  the  earth  from 
which  it  came,  was  poured  off  into  small  barrels 
and  passed  forward  where  Abel  Kasterbrook 
moved  amid  his  strainers,  funnels,  and  rows  of 
huge    casks.        The    hive    hummed    again    upon 


198  THK    CiOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Mr.  Newte's  departure.  Bridle  superintended 
a  fresh  load  of  fruit  now  brought  up  for  the 
breaker ;  Richard  and  his  lady  passed  out  from 
the  dark  and  heavy-scented  pounding-house  to 
the  freshness  and  sweetness  of  the  orchard;  Mrs. 
Gilbert  stood  in  her  old  position  and  watched 
the  men  at  work.  She  had  forgotten  Sibella's 
troubles  for  the  time  being;  yet  her  thoughts 
were  with  the  girl,  though  her  eyes  were  upon 
the  cider  press. 

In  her  mind  she  speculated  as  to  what  fashion 
of  tree  should  be  planted  in  the  orchard  by 
Sibella  upon   her  wedding-day. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A    GREAT    DISCOVERY. 

AS    Lower    Marldon    had   prophesied,  Mr. 
Hatherley  proved  quite  unequal   to   the 
trust  reposed  in  him,  and  ten  days  after 
Sibella    had    departed    from    Compton    Castle    it 
became  necessary  to  find  a  new  custodian  for  the 
ruin. 

Crab  had  a  week  in  which  to  collect  his  goods 
and  disappear ;  but  he  pretended  to  take  his 
dismissal  ill,  though  it  chimed  exactly  with  his 
own  plans,  and  spent  much  time  to  poor  purpose 
at  the  "  Unicorn,"  where  he  dealt  out  strong 
language  with  freedom  and  vigour,  and  spread 
an  opinion  concerning  Sir  Archer  Baskerville's 
character  very  far  from  the  truth. 

It  may  be  noted  that  Richard,  on  behalf  of 
Sibella,  now  clamoured  loudly  for  his  sweetheart's 
money  ;  and  Crab,  after  many  evasions,  had  prom- 
ised to  surrender  it  u}X)n  the  morning  of  his 
departure.     Towards  the  last  davs  ot  his  tenancy, 

199 


200  THE    GOOD    RKl)    EARTH. 

in  an  hour  less  bemused  than  usual,  the  old  man 
bethought  him  of  his  few  possessions,  and  as- 
cended to  his  bed-chamber  in  the  old  roof  of 
Compton  that  he  might  inspect  his  goods  and 
see  exactly  the  nature  of  those  garments  collected 
in  his  old  oak  chest. 

There,  at  the  top,  was  the  coat  he  had  worn 
during  the  day  of  the  auction  ;  and  from  the 
pocket  of  it  stuck  forth  Sibella's  long-sought 
documents.  Supposing  these  to  contain  no  more 
than  the  particulars  of  her  maternal  relations. 
Crab  cast  them  aside,  and  proceeded  with  his 
preparations  for  a  secret  decampment;  but  that 
night,  alone  in  the  dwelling-room,  he  recollected 
the  papers,  and  presently  spread  them  out  for  his 
private  entertainment.  Though  no  penman,  he 
could  read  well  enough,  and  now  he  scanned 
various  pages  of  blue  foolscap  set  out  in  a  bold 
and  flowing  hand.  There  were,  in  addition  to 
this  statement,  certain  other  attestations,  signed 
and  sealed ;  and  the  old  man  passed  from  in- 
difference to  interest,  from  interest  to  frantic 
excitement,  as  he  gradually  mastered  the  nature 
of  these  communications. 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  201 

Bv  the  time  that  he  had  finished  it  was  nearly 
midnight  ;  but  he  did  not  sleep  or  attempt  to 
do  so.  He  even  forgot  to  go  on  drinking  ;  and 
finally,  upon  the  stroke  of  twelve  o'clock,  he 
came  to  a  conclusion  with  himself,  put  on  his 
hat,  buttoned  all  the  papers  under  his  coat,  and 
marched  off  into  the   village. 

Great  peace  and  silence  reigned  therein, 
broken  only  bv  Mr.  Hatherley's  own  voice  ;  for 
he  talked  to  himself,  and  heaped  insult  and  curse 
upon   the  individual   to  whom  he  was  hastening. 

"  Auld  viper  that  he  be!  I'd  so  soon  trust 
the  dowl  ;  but  theer  ban't  none  else  for  me  to 
relv  upon,  as  I  knaw.  He've  brains  in  his 
wicked  poll — an'  I  haven't,  worse  luck,  so  I 
must  go  along  to  un ;  though  Heaven  knaws 
the  man  be  sure  to  strike  a  cruel  hard  bargain. 
I'm  alius  put  upon  —  damn  it  —  all  along  of 
havin'  no  eggication.  Knaw  he  must,  cuss  the 
slimv  twoad  ;  but  if  he  tries  to  best  me  or  get 
more'n  his  share,  I'll  smash  his  skull  in  like  a 
rotten  egg  —  (jod's   my   witness,    I    will." 

Needless  to  say  these  reflections  concerned 
Mr.    Newte,  and    j-jrescntlv    Crab     stood    at    the 


2C2  THE    CiOOl)    RKU    EARl  H. 

pastor's  door  and  woke  the  nocturnal  echoes. 
Alpheus  was  asleep,  for  he  retired  early  as  a 
rule;  but  the  din  quickly  wakened  him,  and 
presently,  in  the  pale  light  of  a  risen  but  wan- 
ing moon,  he  thrust  forth  his  head.  Gazing 
upward,  old  Hatherley  saw  a  dumpling  under 
a  red  extinguisher,  and  knew  it  for  Mr,  Newte 
in   his   nightcap. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  cried  the  good  man. 
"What  lost  sheep  is  bleating  at  this  unreasona- 
ble hour?  Speak.  Is  anybody  ill?  Does  any 
sick  or  suffering  person  need  me  ?  Here  I  am 
then ;  and  I  may  remark  that  Parson  Baring 
is  reported  never  to  leave  his  bed  for  any 
parishioner — but  it  is  not  so  with   me.      I " 

"  Don't  jaw,"  said  the  man  below.  "  Come 
down-house  an'  open  the  door.  I  be  Joshua 
Hatherley,  an'  I've  got  a  very  important  piece 
of  news.  I  wouldn't  never  have  brought  it  to 
you  if  there  was  anybody  better.  But  I  can 
trust    you,    because    I   can    ruin    you    if    I've    a 

mind  to ;    so  open    the    door    an'   let    me    come 

>> 
m. 

"The  night  has  ears,  even   for  a  libel,  friend 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  203 

Crab.  Not  so  loud.  Yet  I  believe  you  speak 
the  truth,  for  something  wholly  out  of  the 
common  must  have  arisen  to  keep  you  sober 
and  standing  on  your  feet  after  midnight.  I'll 
come  down  at  once.  U  it  should  happen  that 
a  great  light  has  shone  upon  you,  that  is  only 
another  proof  that  the  power  o\  Heaven  over- 
comes all  obstacles.  Still,  I'm  not  in  the  least 
hopeful  —  not  in   the  least." 

Five  minutes  later  Mr.  Newte,  with  his 
trousers  on,  his  braces  fastened  over  his  night- 
shirt, his  nightcap  nodding,  and  his  fat  feet 
cased  In  red  felt  slippers,  sat  below  and  scanned 
the  papers.  He  read  carefully  and  slowlv  while 
Crab,  outside  the  narrow  radius  of  light  cast 
by  one  poor  candle,  smoked  his  pipe  and 
.  growled  to  himself. 

At  length  the  pastor  set  down  the  last  paper 
and  spoke. 

"Well,  now,  this  is  rcallv  the  most  remarka- 
ble thing  that  ever  happened  to  me  —  by  far 
the  most  remarkable." 

"  I  found  It  out,  mind  that  !  There's  money 
In     It  —  thousands     I     should     think;     an'     that 


204  I'HK    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

money's  mine.  I  only  come  to  you  because 
you're  a  cunning  chap,  wi'  more  intellects  than 
what  I've  got.  I'll  pay  you  for  what  you  do; 
but  I'm  master.  If  you'll  work  it  out  right, 
I'll  give  you  a  gude  braave  bit  of  money;  if 
you  doan't,  I'll  smash  every  bone  in  your 
body,  so   now   then !  " 

"  What  could  be  more  definite  ?  The  charm 
of  speaking  with  you,  Joshua  Hatherley,  lies 
in  this  :  that  never  for  an  instant  is  it  possible 
for  the  dullest  intelligence  to  escape  your  mean- 
ing. Of  words  you  have  not  many,  but  such 
as   they   are,   you    handle   them    like   a   master." 

"  Ban't  no  time  for  chattering.  Will  you  run 
this  through  for  me,  or  will   you   not  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  will.  We  need  not  talk 
of  money :  you  know  how  I  hate  the  word. 
Of  course  it  is  a  very  desirable  form  of  power. 
Who  should  know  that  better  than  I  do  ? 
But  when  you  have  said  that,  you  have  said  all 
you  can  in  favour  of  it.  In  fact,  a  moiety  and 
a  half — not  more,  not  a  farthing  more  than  a 
moiety  and  a  half  will  I  take,  whatever  may 
be  the  issue." 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  205 

Mr.    Hatherlev    looked    at    him    suspiciously. 

"What  the  hell's  a  moiety  and  a  half.'' 
Never  heard  of  no  such  thing,"   he  said. 

"  A  moiety  and  a  half  bears  a  certain  pro- 
portion to  the  total — a  proportion  under  the 
circumstances  very  modest,  and  quite  equitable 
and  just.  But  the  question  before  me  is  this  : 
how,  for  the  greatest  good  of  the  community, 
can  I  best  acquaint  Sir  Archer  Baskerville  with 
these  amazing  facts  ?  " 

"We'm  out,  him  an'  me.  He've  gived  me 
the  sack  from  Compton  ;  an'  I've  told  un  what 
I   thought  of  un  in   plain   English  .''  " 

"  Then  his  ears  certainly  tingled.  Unfortu- 
nately he  and  I  are  also,  as  you  put  it,  *  out.' 
He  has  not  forgiven  me  in  the  matter  of  that 
little  cabinet  —  a  very  unforgiving  man,  for  all 
his  sturdy  support  of  the  Church  of  England. 
But  this  must  break  down  the  barrier.  Just 
consider  what  I  am  bringing  him  !  Any  ordinary 
being  would  fall  upon  my  neck  and  weep,  and 
welcome   me   as  a    messenger  from    the    grave." 

"  He'll  want  them  papers  if  I  knaw  him.  Us 
have  got  to   prove    our  words.      Ban't   no  gude 


2o6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

gwaine  up  to  the  *  Court  '  wi'  no  cock-an'-bull 
story.  He  must  see  them  papers,  and  us  must 
look  out  very  sharp  that  he  don't  get  'em  into 
his  hands  afore  we've  got  the  price  of  'em. 
What   be   they   worth  ?     That's   the  question." 

"  Who  shall  say  ?  He  may  set  high  store 
upon  them  and  be  generous,  or  he  may  regard 
the  whole  thing  as  a  fraud  and  try  to  prove  it 
one.  So  much  depends  upon  Sir  Archer's  atti- 
tude. You  see  a  man's  mind  at  threescore  years 
and  ten,  or  thereabouts,  has  ceased  to  be  elastic. 
We  resent  all  signs  and  wonders,  as  a  rule,  when 
we  get  beyond  the  half-century.  This  will  be 
a  great  shock  —  a  revolution,  l^he  utmost  tact 
and  skill  on  my  part  are  required.  Upon  my 
soul,  if  it  were  not  for  the  obvious  duty  thrust 
upon  me,  I  should  feel  inclined  to  refuse  the 
task.  These  documents  have  quite  bewildered 
me.  Consider,  then,  how  they  will  upset  this 
Knight.  We  know  to  our  cost,  both  of  us,  how 
little  it  takes  to  upset  him.  This  thunderbolt, 
dropped  out  of  a  blue  sky " 

"  Read  thicky  papers  again  out  loud,  will  'e  ? 
His  fust  thought  will  be   'tis  a  lie  ;   hut  t'others, 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  207 

all  signed  so  bold,  an'  covered  wi'  high  lawyers' 
language  an'  oaths  —  they'll  show  un  'tis  gospel 
truth." 

"The  facts  are  as  follows,"  answered  Mr. 
Newte.  "They  are  startling  enough,  no  doubt, 
from  the  lord  of  the  manor's  point  of  view,  but 
it  seems  absolutely  impossible  to  doubt  them. 
Twenty-five  years  ago  his  only  son  ran  away 
from  the  parental  control  and  went  to  South 
Africa.  About  the  same  time  your  nephew, 
William  Hatherley,  your  late  sister's  son,  went 
also  abroad.  They  met  by  arrangement,  for 
young  Hatherley  was  the  lad's  groom  and  his 
friend  from  childhood.  Despite  his  rank,  the 
lad,  Roger  Godolphin  Baskerville,  made  his 
friends  of  the  people.  And  who  shall  blame 
him  ?  So  much  we  knew.  We  also  knew  that 
these  men,  young  Baskerville  and  your  nephew 
—  who  was  a  good  many  years  older  than  his 
master —  met  abroad,  and  the  relations  of  master 
and  servant  obtained  between  them.  Now  the 
sequel  appears.  The  men  both  marrv,  and  the 
wife  of  Roger  Baskerville  passes  awav  in  childbed, 
leaving  one    little    daughter.      1  lathcilcv    has    no 


2o8  THE    GOOD    RKD    EARTH. 

children,  hut  at  the  wish  of  Mr.  Baskerville  con- 
sents to  a  curious  imposture,  and  sends  home 
to  his  old  mother  a  child — Sibella.  She  is, 
however,  Sibella  Baskerville,  not  Sibella  Hather- 
ley  at  all." 

"  Always  knawed  she  weern't  our  stock  from 
the  fust.  Nature  was  strong  in  me,  an'  my 
bowels  never  yearned  towards  her  one  iotum. 
In  fact,   I   hated  the  wench," 

"  The  reason  for  her  parent's  extraordinary 
conduct  appears  in  this  document,  written  by 
him  when  he  knew  himself  to  be  in  danger  of 
death.  He  disliked  his  father  cordially,  and  he 
had  no  wish  to  brighten  the  old  man's  life  or 
gladden  it  with  the  present  of  an  heiress  to  his 
property.  He  actually  wanted  him  to  live  lonely 
and  die  lonely.  But,  nevertheless,  he  desired 
that  his  child,  Sibella,  should  sooner  or  later 
come  into  her  own.  So  he  directed  that  these 
papers,  telling  her  the  truth  about  herself,  should 
be  handed  to  her  when  she  came  of  age." 

"  That  ban't  yet  for  nigh  two  years." 

"  So  much  the  better.  Then  nobody  can 
accuse  us  of  hiding  froin   her  what  she  ought  to 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  209 

know.  Here,  in  addition  to  this  lucid  statement, 
is  a  signed  attestation  from  William  Hatherley, 
explaining  how  his  master  died  a  week  after 
setting  down  the  truth.  And,  for  the  rest,  we 
know  that  all  the  actors  in  the  little  drama  were 
removed  by  death  some  few  vears  afterwards. 
Your  nephew  and  his  wife  both  lost  their  lives 
in  Africa,  during  a  native  rising  that  swept  out 
of  existence  the  little  settlement  where  they  con- 
tinued to  dwell  after  young  Baskerville's  death. 
That  insurrection  put  back  the  hand  of  progress 
in  Equatorial  Africa,  Probablv,  had  he  ever 
returned,  William  Hatherley  might  have  been 
tempted  to  tell  Sir  Archer  Baskerville  the  truth 
about  Sibella ;  but  Heaven  saw  fit  to  remove 
him," 

"  'Tis  lucky  us  found  this  out  in  time,  for  the 
young  fule  be  gwaine  to  marry  Richard  Gilbert 
afore  Christmas.  Think  of  that !  What  would 
Squire  say  to  that?  The  son  of  his  gert  enemv  ! 
He'll  never  suffer  that  when  he  knaws ;  vet  I 
'most  wish  it  could  fall  out  so,  it  'twas  only  to 
hurt   Baskerville." 

"Certainlv   not.      No    man   will    be    more   sad 


210  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

than  myself  to  see  their  young  loves  nipped  in 
the  bud.  But  so  it  must  be.  The  girl  is  trans- 
lated ;  she  has  gone  up  with  a  merry  noise  to  the 
sound  of  the  lute  and  the  pipe.  My  young 
friend  Richard  will  have  to  look  lower,  and  Miss 
Sibella,  higher.  To  think  that  she  might  huve 
been  my  wife  at  this  moment  but  for  a  temporary 
error  of  judgment  on  her  own  part !  What  a 
world,  Mr.  Hatherley!" 

"  He'll  flame,  that  young  man.  Damned  if  I 
ban't  glad,  if  'tis  awnly  to  think  how  he'll  smart 
when  she's  torn  away  from  him." 

"  He  will,  no  doubt.  He  will  be  very  cross 
indeed;  I'm  positive  of  it.  He  may  do  some- 
thing foolish  —  he  may  err.  Even  the  youngest 
men  sometimes  make  mistakes.  Well,  well,  these 
things  are  out  of  our  hands ;  but  Providence 
never  forgets  a  good  man's  wrongs,  though  he 
may  forget  them  himself.  I  bear  no  malice —  I 
forgive,  I  forget ;  yet  it  seems  pretty  clear  that 
Providence  has  not  forgotten  the  way  Richard 
Gilbert  treated  me  last  spring." 

"When  shall  us  go  to  Sir  Archer?"  inter- 
rupted   Mr,   Hatherley.     "  Them    young  things 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  211 

be  gwaine  to  have  theer  banns  axed  out  in  a  fort- 
night, so  'tis  time  we  did  somethin'  soon." 

"  Quite  right.  These  events  call  for  instant 
action.  Leave  the  first  step  to  me.  It  is  the 
first  step  that  costs  the  brain  tissue.  I  will  set 
the  ball  rolling  —  in  the  name  of  right  and 
justice,   I    need   hardly  sav." 

"  An'  you'll  be  content  with  a  moiety  and  a 
half — not  a  farden  more,  so  help  you.^  " 

"  I  swear  it." 

Mr.  Hatherley  rose  doubtfully. 

"  I  suppose  to-morrow  as  you'll  be  able  to  tell 
me  what  us  had  better  do  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  To-morrow  we  must  act.  To-night  we  must 
seek  inspiration  where  alone  we  can  expect  to  find 
it." 

"  I'm  mortal  thirsty,  whether  or  no,"  declared 
Crab. 

"  Exactly,"  answered  the  other.  "  Your  inspi- 
ration flows  out  of  the  spirit  bottle;  mine  comes 
down  like  the  rain  from  heaven,  and  angels 
whisper  it  to   me  in   the  night  watches." 

"  Everv  man  to  his  awn  fancv  then.  An'  as 
'tis  tu  late  to  get  a  drink  now,  I'll  thank   you  for 


212  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

summat.  I'm  like  a  roasting  brick-kiln  along  of 
this  business." 

The  pastor  went  to  his  little  cupboard. 

"I  will  join  you  —  in  a  medicinal  dose,"  he 
said,  "for  you  have  quite  shaken  my  nerves. 
The  world  is  always  shaking  my  nerves.  What 
a  wonderfully  interesting  place  it  is  to  be  sure  — 
even  as  displayed  here  in  the  Marldons." 

Crab  chuckled. 

"Ess  fay,"  he  answered;  "an'  us'll  make  it  a 
sight  more  interesting  still  for  a  party  here  an' 
theer  afore  we've  done  with  it.  An'  if  auld 
Baskerville  be  miserly  awver  this  job,  theer  may 
be  others  as  won't  be.  Thousands  —  I  tell  'e  — 
thousands  of  pounds  theer  should  be  in  this  find- 
ing; an'  they'm  mine  —  every  farden-piece  but 
the  moiety  an'  a  half  for  you.  An'  seein'  as  you 
be  gwaine  to  treat  me  so  honest  an'  bide  content 
wi'  a  li'l  bit,  I  daresay  as  I'll  make  it  another 
five  awver  an'  above  your  share  if  auld  man  pays 
real  handsome." 

"  Don't  let  vour  natural  generosity  run  away 
with  you,"  said  Mr.  Newte.  "  There's  always  a 
temptation  with  a  big  nature  like  yours  to  err  in 


A    GREAT    DISCOVERY.  213 

that  way.  I  want  no  more  than  my  portion. 
Consciousness  of  well-doing  is  its  own  reward  in 
this  vale.  Here's  good  luck  to  us  all  and  the 
triumph  of  right !  " 

Mr.  Hatherlev  drank  deep,  and  the  pastor's 
medicinal  dose  was  also  quite  appreciable.  They 
talked  awhile  longer ;  Crab  took  more  brandy, 
and  after  the  third  glass  grew  affectionate  and 
swore  that  he  would  trust  Mr.  Newte  with  his 
life.  He  also  promised  to  attend  the  service  at 
Farmer  Cloberry's  converted  barn  upon  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday.  Alpheus  Newte,  for  his  part, 
quoted  the  parable  of  the  lost  piece  of  silver  and 
finally  dismissed  Mr.  Hatherley,  bidding  him 
depart  in  peace. 

But  the  old  man  left  Sibella's  documents  behind 
him. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA. 

WllILE  she  was  busy  with  her  dinner 
on  the  following  day,  Sibella  heard  a 
familiar  voice,  and  going  to  the  door 
of  the  cottage  at  Higher  Marldon,  where  now  she 
abode  until  her  marriage,  discovered  Mr.  Newte. 
He  bid  her  a  tender  "  Good-day,"  clasped  her 
hand  before  she  could  prevent  it,  and  declared 
himself  so  full  of  tremendous  news  that  he  hardly 
knew  where  or  how  to  begin. 

"  I  long  to  tell  you  myself — to  play  the  Angel 
Raphael  on  this  occasion  and  amaze  you  with  glad 
tidings.  But  no  ;  the  temptation  must  be  fought 
and  conquered.  It  is  not  my  place  —  the  duty, 
the  privilege  of  making  this  announcement  belongs 
to  another.  I  can  only  say  that  circumstances  have 
transpired  —  that  Heaven,  in  its  own  good  time 
and  for  its  own  good  purposes,  has  been  busy  on 
your  behalf;  in  fact,  an  enormous  increase  of 
happiness  awaits  you,  Sibella." 

214 


THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.    215 

"  I  know  that  already,"  she  said;  "  I'm  going 
to  marry  Richard  five  weeks  from  to-day." 

"  Man  proposes  and  God  disposes.  Now, 
my  child,  you  must  put  on  your  best  frock  and 
bonnet,  make  yourself  as  comely  as  possible,  and 
follow  me." 

"Whereto?" 

"  To  no  less  a  place  than  the  ancient  home  of 
Sir  Archer  Baskerville.  Open  your  eyes  and  look 
across  the  yalley.  There,  in  the  trees  —  which, 
by  the  way,  are  allowed  to  grow  much  too  near  to 
the  house  for  health  —  resides  the  great  man,  the 
great  lonely  lord  of  the  manor.  I  haye  news  for 
him  too,  wonderful  news  ;  but  how  he  will  take 
it  remains  to  be  seen.  I  shall  haye  to  speak  with 
the  tongues  of  fire  to  convince  him;  but,  happily, 
there  are  documents.  Men  too  often  won't  believe 
the  inspired  word,  but  they  usually  crumple  up 
before  a  signed  document ;  such  virtue  there  is  in 
sealing-wax." 

"All  this  is  Greek  to  me,  Mr.  Newte." 

"  So  it  must  be  ;  then  come  along  as  fast  as 
you  can  and  get  it  explained.  A  remarkable 
thing   has   happened,  Sibella,  and   your  future   is 


2i6  THE    GOOD    RKI)    EARTH. 

bound  up  in  it.  I'll  say  no  more;  the  rest 
depends   upon   Sir   Archer   Baskerville." 

"  I  can  expect  no  attention  from  him  except  for 
granny's  sake." 

"  And  that  would  be  good  reason  enough." 

"  But  Richard.  When  Sir  Archer  hears  I  am 
going  to  marry  a  Gilbert,  even  though  he  might 
have  the  power  to  do  me  good,  he  would  never 
use  it." 

"  True.  That  is  probably  the  dark  cloud. 
But,  oh,  my  child,  every  cloud  has  a  silver  lining! 
I  predict  —  however,  I  will  not  prophesy  just  at 
this  moment.  Get  your  hat  and  put  on  your 
best  Sunday  frock.  It  is  imperative  that  you 
come  with  me  to  see  Sir  Archer  at  once,  also  that 
you  make  a  good  impression." 

"Cannot  I  tell  Richard  first?" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell  him  yet,  though 
probably  he  will  have  to  hear  some  rather  startling 
facts  pretty  soon.  Now,  ask  no  more  questions, 
but  put  yourself  in  my  hands.  At  least  all 
persons  are  agreed  that  I  am  trustworthy, 
though  they  may  or  may  not  approve  of  my 
opinions." 


THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.     217 

Sibella,  now  in  a  stare  of  hopeless  bewilderment, 
left  him  and  presently  returned. 

"It's  all  a  dream,  Mr.  Newte,"  she  said.  "I 
shall  waken  by-and-by." 

"  You  will,  my  dear ;  and  when  you  do,  re- 
member thy  servant  Joseph  —  or  I  should  say 
'  Alpheus.'  Presently  you  will  see  the  extent  of 
the  benefit  I  am  able  to  confer  upon  vou  by  the 
blessing  of  Providence ;  and  then  recollect  that 
the  rarest  and  the  most  beautiful  of  the  virtues  is 
gratitude.  I  don't  want  a  statue  or  anything 
of  that  kind;  I  want  gratitude  —  solid,  tangible 
gratitude  —  four  figures  of  it.  I  want  a  sort  of 
recognition  that  I  can  put  into  the  bank  and 
suffer  to  accumulate  for  the  benefit  of  the  com- 
munity. I  may  tell  you  that  a  very  difficult  duty 
lies  immediately  before  me.  If  you  look  at  my 
eyes  you  will  observe  that  the  rims  of  their  eye- 
lids are  red.  That  is  because  I  was  awake  all 
night  —  working  for  you  —  watching  and  praying, 
and  so  forth.  Now  I  have  to  leave  you  here  in 
some  outer  chamber  of  the  Court  while  I  have 
an  interview  with  this  great  personage  on  your 
behalf      He   is   already  niy  enemy,  and    niv  task 


2i8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

will  first  be  to  assuage  his  wrath,  then  gradually 
bring  him  into  a  reasonable  and  amiable  frame  of 
mind,  and,  finally,  break  the  astounding  intelli- 
gence that  I  speak  of.  That  done  I  shall  calm 
him,  and  speak  the  word  in  season,  and  lead  him, 
as  the  shepherd  leads  the  spring  lamb,  into  a  placi  i 
state  of  mind.  We  may  drink  a  glass  of  wine 
together  if  Heaven  gives  me  the  mastery  ;  and 
then,  when  he  has  been  set  aglow  by  my  intelli- 
gence, and  the  pathos  of  the  position  is  rendered 
more  apparent  through  the  mellowing  influence 
of  some  old  vintage  —  then  I  shall  lead  you  into 
his  presence,  and  leave  you  there  alone.  No  eye 
must  gaze  upon  that  meeting;  it  will  be  sacred. 
Here  we  are.  If  I  was  a  poet  I  should  say  the 
very  trees  know  what  we  have  come  about.  See 
how  the  oak  and  horse-chestnut  cast  down  their 
treasures  at  your  little  feet  as  we  walk  up  the 
avenue  !  And  yet  no  premonition  of  the  position 
appears  in  your  face." 

"Johnny  Fortnight,  how  you  chatter!"  said 
the  girl,  laughing  in  spite  of  herselt  at  his  glib 
tongue  and  the  solemn  gestures  of  his  fat  arms 
as  he  waved  them   theatrically.     "  And  what  'tis 


THE   TRANSLATION    OF   SIBELLA.     219 

about  I've  not  the  dinkiest  notion.  I  only  wish 
Dick  was  alongside  of  me  to  see  me  through  it 
all  ;  but  he's  never  been  between  these  gates, 
and  never  will  come  between  them.  Once,  tak- 
ing a  message  from  grandmother  to  Sir  Archer's 
housekeeper,  I  met  Dick  and  asked  him  to  come 
with  me.  But  he  said  the  old  stone  hippo-grifFs 
—  or  whatever  they  are  called  that  live  on  the 
pillars  of  the  gate  —  would  have  come  down 
and  torn  to  pieces  any  Gilbert  who  dared  to  set 
foot  on  the  Baskerville  estate." 

Now  they  stood  at  the  door  and  Mr.  Newte 
rang  boldly,  asked  for  Sir  Archer,  and  marched 
into  the  hall  before  a  man-servant  could  delay 
his  progress.  The  sight  of  Sibella  soothed  the 
flunkey,  for  he  knew  her  well  enough  ;  but  of 
Mr.  Newte  he  had  heard  nothing  good,  and  felt 
very  sure  that  his  master  would  vigorously  re- 
sent the  pastor's  intrusion. 

"  Best  go  out  of  this  quickcr'n  you  came  in," 
he  said.  "  All  you'll  be  likely  to  get  here  is 
a  horse-whipping.  I've  heard  Sir  Archer  maul 
you   wi'   his   tongue  something  terrible." 

Mr.  Newte  was  about  to  reply,  when   the  lord 


220  TFH-:    c;OC)I)    RED    EARTH. 

of  the  manor  himself  appeared.  Amazement  and 
anger  were  in  his  face  at  sight  of  Alpheus.  He 
leapt  forward  to  fulfil  the  servant's  prophecy, 
snatched  a  riding-whip  from  a  rack  and  swore 
at  his   visitor. 

"  You  here  !  You  dare  to  cross  my  threshold, 
you  oily  rascal  !  " 

"Peace  be  to  this  house;  and  don't  lift  your 
hand  before  a  lady  !"  cried  Mr.  Newte.  "I'm 
not  here  to  insult  you  or  trouble  you  in  any  way. 
I'm  here  about  a  matter  vital  to  your  dearest, 
deepest  interests  —  God  is  my  judge!  Listen 
to  me  first,  and  horsewhip  me  afterwards  —  if 
you  can  find  it  in  your  grandfatherly  heart  to  do 
so ;  but  I  feel  sure  you  won't  when  you  hear  the 
amazing,  the  wonderful  truth  that  it  is  my  privi- 
lege to  bring  to  you,  Sir  Archer  Baskerville." 

"  Truth  from  you  would  be  wonderful," 
answered  the  other,  holding  his  hand  at  sight 
of  Sibella's  frightened  face.  "  What  do  you 
bring  this  young  woman  here  for,  and  how  do 
you  dare  to  come  yourself?  Say  it  in  the  fewest 
words.  I  hate  to  think  such  a  canting  scoundrel 
has  been  inside  mv  doors  a  second  time." 


THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.     221 

"  I'm  sorry  ;  I'm  sure  I  would  as  soon  walk 
in  the  garden  under  heaven's  canopv  ;  but  birds 
have  ears  as  well  as  walls.  We  had  better  go 
into  your  studv  ;  I  shan't  do  it  any  harm.  I'm 
not  poisonous  —  on  mv  word  of  honour,  I'm 
not.  Meantime  this  maiden  had  better  stop 
outside  in   the   hall   or  another  apartment." 

"  Wait  here,  Sibella,"  said  Sir  Archer,  kindly, 
"  and  be  sure  you  won't  have  to  wait  long.  If 
you're  fond  of  flowers,  vou  can  go  across  into 
the  conservatory  and  see  the  chrysanthemums." 

"'Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  attired 
like  one  of  these,'  "  declared  the  pastor,  looking 
at  the  great  flowers  hard  by. 

"If  you  quote  Scripture  again  in  mv  presence, 
I  shall  strike  you,"  retorted  the  lord  of  the 
manor.  "It  is  extremely  offensive  upon  any 
glib  tongue  ;  upon  yours  it  is  loathsome.  You 
laugh  in  your  sleeve  all  the  time,  unctuous 
wretch  that  you  are  !  Your  lips  don't,  but  vour 
eyes  do.  You  may  cheat  the  common  herd  with 
your  hypocrisy  ;  you  mav  even  cheat  yourself; 
but  you   won't  deceive  me." 

Thev    were    now   in    Sir    Archer's  study,   and 


222  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Mr.  Newte,  without  answering  this  last  remark, 
asked  a  question  :  — 

"  Shall  I  sit  down,  or  would  you  prefer  that  I 
should  stand  ?  1  may  observe  that  your  attitude 
and  your  language  to  me  would  be  very  different 
if  you  knew  what  was  in  my  pocket." 

"  A  pistol,  1  daresay  !  I  only  wish  there  was, 
and  that  you  would  bring  it  out  and  point  it  at 
my  head.  Then  1  should  have  a  handsome  ex- 
cuse for  doing  what  I  am  itching  to  do." 

"  If  I  said  that  you  were  entertaining  an  angel 
unawares,  it  would  probably  annoy  vou,"  replied 
the  pastor.  "  Therefore,  I  won't  say  it.  I  am 
here  to  ask  you  a  strange  question  and  divulge  a 
startling  secret.      Providence,  whose  ways " 

"  Leave  that !  "  said  Sir  Archer,  tightening  his 
hold  on   the  horsewhip, 

"  As  you  please.  I  was  about  to  remark  that 
Providence  has  brought  to  light  an  amazing 
circumstance,  affecting  you  more  nearly  than 
anybody  in  the  world.  I  am  the  tool  ;  and 
Providence  always  chooses  the  right  tool.  Now, 
touching  your  son,  Sir  Archer " 

"  Better  do  no  such  thing.      I  won't  have  his 


THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.     223 

name  upon  vour  lips.      I  believe  that   he  is   dead 
and  has  answered  for  his  folly. " 

"  Roger  Godolphin  Baskerville  is  dead  ;  but 
being  dead  yet  speaketh.  I  have  in  mv  pocket 
certain  documents  left  to  a  certain  person.  Not 
to  you,  Sir  Archer,  though  they  will  soon  be 
yours  ;  but  to  another,  who  is  as  yet  ignorant 
of  their  deep  importance.  She  has,  in  fact,  never 
seen  them,  and  believes  that  they  are  lost. 
Straight  to  my  hand  have  they  been  brought, 
bv  one  who  is  little  better  than  an  idiot.  How 
true  it  is  that  the  Lord's  chosen  fools  often  work 
wonders  beyond  the  power  of  the  cleverest  of 
men  !  These  documents  attest  strange  things, 
and  that  you  may  realise  there  is  nothing  under- 
hand here,  no  shadow  of  any  falsehood,  I  will 
show  you  how  much  these  papers  have  told  me 
concerning  matters  that  of  course  I  did  not  know, 
but  with  which  you  are  familiar.  First,  then, 
your  son  departs  without  your  permission,  be- 
comes engaged  in  mid-ocean,  and  marries  the 
lady  of  his  choice  on  reaching  Africa.  An 
orphan  of  Scotch  extraction,  it  appears.  Now, 
South   Africa  is   not   outside  the  pale  ot   civilisa- 


224  IHE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

tion.  A  legal  marriage  is  possible  in  that 
country.  A  certificate  may  be  obtained.  Your 
son,  to  be  brief,  was  legally  married  at  a  little 
settlement  of  missionaries.  Since  then  that  set- 
tlement has  been  swept  away  by  the  savages  of 
those  tropic  lands,  and  the  workers  have  won  the 
martyr's  crown.  Their  archives  were  utterly 
destroyed.  The  rest  lies  in  a  nutshell.  God  so 
often  does  his  great  deeds  in  a  nutshell,  and 
makes  the  mere  atom  a  vehicle  for  wonders  in 
the  land  of  Ham.  Now,  the  man  William  Hath- 
erley,  you  remember.  He  went  with  your  son, 
or  soon  afterwards ;  his  dog-like  fidelity  com- 
mands our  respect.  It  was  thought  that  this 
person  had  a  little  girl  —  the  same  Sibella  who  is 
at  this  moment  admiring  your  chrysanthemums. 
You  start.  Sibella  is  a  family  name  of  the  Bas- 
kervilles,  I  have  heard.  Ah,  my  friend,  read, 
read  what  I  have  here  !  I  ought  to  ask  a  price 
first,  and  give  you  these  precious  documents 
afterwards ;  but  I  cannot  do  it.  I  too  am  a  man, 
though  not  a  grandfather.  That  word  '  grand- 
father' !  It  gives  a  dignity  to  your  grey  hairs,  Sir 
Archer;  it  adds  an  inch   to  vour  stature.      Read, 


THE   TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.     225 

read!  Sibella  Hatherley  is  Sibella  Baskerville  — 
your  grandchild,  and  as  fair  and  blythe  a  maiden 
as   ever  bloomed   from   your   noble  stem  !  " 

He  spread  a  litter  of  papers  upon  the  table, 
and  the  knight,  trembling  with  excitement,  began 
aimlessly  to  grope  among  them. 

"  Here  is  a  piece  of  my  son's  writing,"  he  said. 
"  This  is  true.  I  myself  have  looked  at  that 
girl  and  wondered  what  blood  was  in  her  veins." 

"  Wonder  no  longer,  mv  dear  and  honoured 
sir,  for  your  own  flows  there.  You  believe  ? 
Tell  me  that  you  believe,  and  I  will  depart.  I 
shall  tread  on  air.  There  is  a  beatific  light  upon 
your  brow.  Sir  Archer ;  and  I  have  the  proud 
knowledge   that   I    brought   it   there." 

The  other  was  deep  in  the  papers  ;  and  Mr. 
Newte  smiled  at  the  horsewhip  which  had  fallen 
to  the  ground. 

"  It  is  all  of  a  piece.  There  can  be  no  untruth. 
My  son  has  written  with  his  own  hand." 

"Written  and  dictated.  He  felt  himself  struck 
for  death.  His  purpose  —  doubtless  the  mrdig- 
nant  result  of  delirium  or  some  horrible  malarial 
fever — was  to   keep   the   maiden   from   you   until 


226  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

she  came  of  age.  Then  she  was  to  receive  these 
papers  and  be  left  free  to  decide  her  course  of 
action.  Mercifully  the  discovery  was  made  by 
me  in  time.  For  within  a  month  or  so  —  in 
fact  the  child  was  on  the  threshold  of  marriage 
with  an  inferior.  But  Providence,  if  I  may 
again  allude  to  it,  has  still  some  regard  for  the 
Upper  Ten  Thousand,  thank  God.  Is  it  not 
that  august  body  which  has  justified  the  ways  of 
Providence  to  the  masses?  I  think  so;  I  have 
always  believed  so.  We  are  in  time  at  anv  rate 
—  in  time  to  save  the  heiress  of  the  Baskervilles 
from  marrying  a  cider-maker.  You  are  going  to 
thank  me.  Sir  Archer;  I  see  in  your  face  that 
you  are  about  to  thank  me." 

"  It  may  be  that  I  have  misjudged  you,  Mr. 
Newte.  At  least  you  have  behaved  in  accordance 
with  right  and  honesty  in  this  matter." 

"  It  is  not  the  least  part  of  such  a  great  event 
from  my  point  of  view,  Sir  Archer,  that  it  enables 
you  to  perceive  me  in  a  new  and  truer  light.  You 
will  observe  that  I  hand  over  these  documents 
without  any  condition  or  stipulation  whatsoever. 
They  are  Sibella   Baskerville's,  by   the  direction 


THE   TRANSLATION    OF   SIBELLA.     227 

of  her  dead  parent ;  yet,  though  I  knew  that  they 
were  hers,  a  strong  hand  pointed  me  to  you  rather 
than  to  her.      I  trust  vou  think  I  did  well." 

"  Yes  —  emphatically  it  was  better  that  I  should 
know  this  first." 

"  I  will  leave  you  then.  I  may  observe  that  I 
have  absolutely  no  claim  upon  you  in  this  matter. 
Such  a  sacred  privilege  seemed  beyond  any  con- 
sideration of  lucre.  Yet,  in  justice  to  you  who 
have  recovered  a  granddaughter  —  a  very  beauti- 
ful and  distinguished  damsel,  too  —  in  justice  to 
you.  Sir  Archer,  and  from  a  fear  that  you  might 
remember  this  aspect  of  the  case  after  I  was  gone, 
I  mention  it.  You  may  think  with  me  that 
money  seems  almost  a  blasphemy  in  such  a  con- 
nection, or,  being  a  rich  man,  who  knows  the 
value  of  the  precious  metals  better  than  I  can,  it 
may  be  that  you  will  consider  a  certain  sum  might 
pass  between  us  without  offence.  Candidly  I 
don't  know ;  I  should  like  your  judgment  on 
that  delicate  question." 

"  It  is  all  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Not  so,  Sir  Archer.  I  have  your  thanks ; 
you  have  honoured  me  by  shaking  my  hand;   my 


228  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

heart  is  full.  Money  will  be  less  to  me  than  the 
memory  of  this  occasion.  I  may  say,  indeed,  that 
five  thousand  pounds  would  weigh  very  lightly  in 
the  balance  against  the  memory  of  your  delight 
to-day." 

"  You  are  a  very  diplomatic  man,  Mr.  Newte.' 
"  My  dear  Sir  Archer,  naked  came  I  into  the 
world,  and  naked  shall  I  go  out  of  it  again  ;  but 
in  the  meantime,  during  my  progress  through  this 
impecunious  vale  and  on  behalf  of  the  commu- 
nity       You  see  a  sum  like  that  at  4  per  cent. 

—  not  5  —  positively  I  cannot  believe  in  5  —  at  4 

—  represents  —  yes,  two  hundred  a  year.  Re- 
moved thus  from  the  necessity  of But  now 

I'll  go.  I  know  what  is  in  vour  mind.  Who 
can  know  it  better.''  Your  granddaughter  is 
here;  she  has  absolutely  no  inkling  of  these 
beautiful  and  pathetic  facts.  Break  it  to  her 
gently.  Sir  Archer,  —  a  very  highly-strung,  sen- 
sitive lady,  —  and,  now  I  look  at  you,  positively 
your  eyes  and  hers  —  how  singular  —  like  little 
pieces  of  the  same  blue  heaven  !  She  is  still 
under  the  impression  that  she  recently  lost  a 
grandmother ;    and   it  is    your   pleasant   duty    to 


THE    TRANSLATION    OF    SIBELLA.     229 

explain  to  her  that  she  has  found  a  grandfather 
instead.  Farewell !  When  you  are  satisfied  of 
the  story  which  these  papers  set  forth,  —  all  under 
duly  legal  and  properly  attested  documents, — 
you  will  remember  Alpheus  Newte  —  his  resi- 
dence, the  dwelling  of  Widow  Truscott  at  Lower 
Marldon." 

Mr.  Newte  bowed  down  and  swept  with  no 
little  stateliness  from  the  library.  A  minute  later 
he  had  sent  Sibella  to  her  grandfather,  and  him- 
self departed  homewards. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

FOR     DICK. 

SIR  ARCHER  BASKERVILLE  sat  with- 
out moving  when  his  granddaughter  ap- 
peared. His  eyes  were  on  her  face,  busy 
to  find  mark  and  remembrance  of  her  father  ;  and 
then  his  mind  roved  from  Sibella  away  to  the 
announcement  of  that  hour  and  the  fact  of  the 
papers  on  the  table.  He  reflected  that  his  son 
had  purposely  desired  the  girl  to  remain  in  hum- 
bleness and  poverty  until  her  twenty-first  year. 
His  passionate  nature  grew  angry  with  the  dead, 
for  was  it  not  Sir  Archer  who  had  lost  most,  suf- 
fered most?  The  knowledge  of  a  granddaughter 
had  doubtless  diminished  the  knight's  anxieties 
and  regrets  through  many  years  ;  yet  this  great 
circumstance  his  son  had  deliberately  concealed 
from  him.  He  reflected  also  that  in  the  event 
of  his  death,  the  estates  and  possessions  must 
have  passed  away  to  another  branch  of  the  family, 
and  he  pictured  the  trouble  and  confusion  conse- 

230 


FOR    DICK.  231 

quent  on  such  a  situation  when  Sibella  should 
come  of  age  and  learn   the  truth. 

Then  he  forgot  everything  but  the  girl,  and 
his  heart  grew  soft  and  went  out  to  her,  and 
hungered  towards  her.  Here  was  a  new  object 
for  life,  a  centre  of  hope,  a  fellow-creature 
sprung  from  himself.  He  found  his  voice 
unequal  to  speech  for  a  moment ;  then  he  bid 
Sibella  be  seated,  and  called  her  attention  to 
the  papers  on   the  table. 

"  Here  are  great  matters,  mv  child,"  he  said 
gently.  "  They  concern  you  —  and  me  also.  I 
have  only  just  learned  the  purport  of  them. 
Of  course  you  can  read  ?  Then  do  so,  and 
read  most  carefully.      I   will  wait  your  time," 

Sibella's  eye  had  caught  sight  of  a  superscrip- 
tion. It  was  blurred  and  time-stained  some- 
what, for  it  had  been  set  upon  the  outside  of 
the  packet.  But  within  all  the  documents  were 
fresh  and  clean,  as  though  written  but  yester- 
day. 

"These  are  mine.  Sir  Archer!"  she  cried. 
"Oh,  what  a  precious  sight  to  me!  My  dear 
father's  words " 


232 


THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 


*' And  in  part  your  father's  writing — yes, 
Sibella.  They  were  to  be  secret  until  you  came 
of  age.  That,  however,  is  no  longer  necessary. 
I  have  yet  to  learn  exactly  how  and  where  the 
manuscripts  were  found  by  Mr.  Newte.  But 
it  is  a  blessing,  indeed,  that  he  did  find  them. 
Don't  be  nervous  or  ill  at  ease.  You'll  quickly 
understand  the  position  when  you  have  read 
what  lies  there." 

The  girl  hesitated,  and  felt  her  heart  flutter, 
but  she  showed   no  emotion. 

"  All  this  is  such  a  great  mystery  to  me," 
she  said.  "  I  will  read  what  mv  father  wrote 
for  me.      I   will  be   very  quick.   Sir  Archer." 

"  Go  to  the  fire,  my  child.  Surprise  and 
doubt  sometimes  make  us  cold  for  the  moment. 
There,  sit  there  and  take  your  time.  You 
won't  faint  or  anything  of  that  sort,  I  very  well 
know.     No   Baskerville  women  ever  do." 

She  stared  and  was  going  to  speak,  when  he 
stopped  her,  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders, 
and  pressed  her  into  a  big  easy-chair  beside  the 
hearth. 

"Not   a  word  until    you   have    read    all   there 


FOR    DICK.  233 

is  to  read,  or,  at  least,  all  that  is  vital. 
There  appears  a  possibility  of  error  here,  but 
it  is  very  remote.  Indeed,  I  have  no  doubt  in 
my  own  mind,  for  my  heart  has  decided  the 
question.  A  man's  heart  speaks  the  truth  to 
him  in  such  great  rare  moments  as  this  day 
has  brought  to  me." 

Sibella  looked  with  round,  wonder-stricken 
eyes,  but  did  not  speak ;  then  her  grandfather 
pointed  to  the  papers  in  her  lap,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  and  began  to  read. 

There  was  a  silence  while  the  girl  studied, 
and  Sir  Archer  walked  up  and  down  beside  the 
window  with  his  eves  on  her  face.  The  truth 
then  reached  her,  and  she  read  no  more,  but 
dropped  the  manuscripts  in  a  heap,  and  rose 
up  and  stood  dreaming  of  this  amazing  sur- 
prise. It  seemed  to  the  old  man  watching 
her  that  she  had  grown  an  inch  or  two.  He 
wondered  how  this  news  appealed  to  her,  and 
tried  to  realise  the  emotions  of  one  in  humble 
life  thus  suddenly  exalted.  But  none  born  to 
greatness  can  guess  the  tenor  of  a  mind  thus 
confronted    with    it.      Sir    Archer    imagined     the 


234  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

girl's  horizons  widening  —  widening  till  the  very- 
earth  beneath  her  feet  perhaps  felt  unstable;  he 
supposed  that  she  was  oppressed  with  such  a 
splendid  reality  ;  he  approached  and  looked  into 
her  face  and  fancied  that  pride  of  birth  was 
already  born  there.  To  his  sight  her  shapely 
head  poised  differently  upon  her  shoulders,  and 
the  joy  of  finding  herself  a  Baskerville  touched 
her  little  red  mouth  into  a  new  curve  never 
seen  there  before. 

He  watched  fondly  and  built  up  this  patch- 
work of  errors  as  he  watched.  In  reality, 
Sibella's  thoughts  had  flown  from  the  actual 
event  with  unerring  directness  to  the  vital  point 
ahead  of  her.  No  pride  was  in  her  heart ;  no 
particular  joy  marked  the  moment,  for  a  great 
anxiety  already  began  to  cloud  down  upon  her, 
and  all  her  mind  was  occupied  with  Richard 
Gilbert.  Like  lightning  her  thoughts  traversed 
the  position ;  then  she  saw  the  old  face  near 
her,  and,  moved  by  sudden  inspiration,  ap- 
proached him,  put  her  arms  round  her  grand- 
father's neck  and  kissed  him.  No  words  had 
better  answered   the   purpose.      The  spontaneous 


FOR   DICK.  235 

action  woke  all  that  was  best  in  this  lonely 
soul,  and  fires  of  a  genial  glow,  long  smothered 
under  the  ashes  of  vanity  and  futile  temper, 
woke  to  life  again. 

"God  bless  my  son's  daughter  —  God  bless 
the  little  girl  who  has  come  to  brighten  up  the 
grey  winter  of  my  old  life  !  There  is  a  kind 
Father  in  Heaven,  child  —  an  All-seeing  One 
who  works  in  His  own  good  time  and  by  His 
own  mysterious  ways.  I  cannot  tell  you  quite 
what  this  discovery  means  to  me.  My  life  has 
not  been  very  happy.  I  was  not  wise  enough 
to  seek  the  things  that  mattered  when  I  was 
young,  and  a  great  disappointment  clouded  my 
days  —  a  great  wrong,  rather  —  a  wrong  I  did 
not  commit,  but  suffered.  The  thing  I  wanted 
most  was  taken  from  me  —  stolen  away,  —  but 
that  life-long  injury  need  not  trouble  you.  Let 
it  suffice  that,  concerning  your  father,  I  had 
forgiven  him  —  from  my  heart  forgiven  him  for 
disobeying  me.  And  I  loved  him  again  before 
he  died;  and  I  love  the  memory  of  him  now, 
though  he  willed  to  keep  you  from  me  all 
these  years,  and  so  did  you  a  wrong  and   me  a 


236  THK    CK)()D    RED    KARTH. 

wrong.  I  forgive  him  that  too.  Heaven  willed 
it,  and  now  Heaven  permits  that  we  make  up 
for  lost  time.  This  story  cannot  be  hidden. 
Here  it  is  set  down  beyond  possibility  of  doubt, 
as  I  believe.  I  am  thankful  that  vour  mother 
was  a  well-born,  though  a  lonely  and  friendless 
girl.  The  little  community  where  your  father 
and  she  dwelt  has  passed  away ;  the  church  in 
which  they  joined  hands  has  vanished  now ;  for 
God  permitted  the  heathen  to  triumph  there, 
and  after  the  event  the  good  man  who  married 
vour  parents  was  slain  and  his  little  mission- 
station  burned  to  the  ground.  It  is  strange, 
yet  it  may  be  true,  that  the  lion  again  walks 
unchallenged  where  you  were  born,  Sibella. 
But  here  are  all  the  proofs  necessary.  The 
truth  about  you  is  there  in  those  precious 
papers.  Kiss  me  again,  granddaughter,  and  say 
that  you   are  glad  to  be  my  granddaughter." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  because  vou  are  glad.  Sir 
Archer,"  she  answered.  "  And  when  'tis  borne 
in  upon  my  mind  I  shall  be  vet  more  glad,  but 
I'm  all  in  a  maze  to  think  such  things  can  be. 
I   can't  understand  yet.     And  through   it    all  — 


FOR    DICK.  237 

oh,  there's  a  terrible  side  too  !  To  think  your- 
self one  girl  for  eighteen  years,  and  then  suddenly 
find  you  was  another  !  " 

"You  'were'  another.  Poor  little  maiden! 
Yes,  I  have  got  to  realise  this  wonderful  thing 
as  well  as  you  ;  and  I  doubt  but  that  it  will  take 
my  old,  cut-and-dried,  crystallised  mind  longer 
far  than  your  young,  elastic  one.  To  be  all  alone 
in  the  world  for  more  years  than  you  have  lived 
yet  —  to  have  none  near  and  dear — and  then 
suddenly  dropped  out  of  the  skv  —  from  Heaven 
as  I  do  most  honestly  and  religiously  believe  — 
there  comes  into  my  life  a  little  one,  to  be  son 
and  daughter  both  to  me.  And  you  shall  make 
me  young  again  —  young  in  your  youth.  Can 
you  face  a  new  life  with  me,  Sibella .''  " 

"  I  was  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life  when 
this  wonderful  thing  happened,  Sir  Archer,"  she 
answered  sedately. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course.  Your  early  days 
passed  at  Compton.  How  happv  that  you 
should  have  moved  there  —  a  tit  place  tor  a  dis- 
guised princess  —  a  home  ot  noble  spirits  that 
have    long   gone    to   their    rest.       You   knew  the 


238  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH, 

history  more  or  less,  I  suppose  ?  Did  you  learn 
it  like  a  parrot,  or  did  you  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  often  thought  about  it,  indeed." 

"  Have  you  been  educated  —  in  a  general  way, 
my  child  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing,  Sir  Archer,  except  how  to 
read  and  write." 

"  Then  you  must  begin  your  lessons  by  learn- 
ing to  love,  Sibella." 

"  That  needs  no  lessons,  sir,"  she  said. 

"To  love  me  —  to  love  me.  I  am  very  de- 
sirous of  it.  I  want  to  see  vour  eye  brighter 
for  the  sight  of  me.  I  want  to  find  out  how 
I   shall  quickest  make  you   love   me." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  he  saw  her  thought  shad- 
owed, and  read,  not  what  he  yearned  for,  but  the 
old,  primal  love  of  a  maid  for  a  man.  She  too 
perceived  by  the  altered  expression  of  his  features 
that  he  had  gleaned  something  from  her  dream- 
ing, uplifted  face ;  and  she  felt  that  the  point  of 
difficulty  and  danger  was  reached.  Even  in  that 
supreme  moment  her  wonder  grew  at  her  own 
calmness  and  control.  Then  the  old  man  held 
out  his  hands  to  her  and   smiled,  and   her   self- 


FOR    DICK.  239 

possession  vanished,  for  it  seemed  that  he  thought 
the  rising  cloud  might  be  smiled  away,  whereas 
Sibella  knew  well  enough  that  it  held  the  sub- 
stance of  her  life.  His  next  words  confirmed 
her  fears. 

"  Nothing  must  come  between  us,  child.  The 
humblest,  simplest  little  life  puts  out  his  roots,  I 
suppose,  even  as  the  wild  flower;  but  when  we 
transplant  a  white  violet  to  be  queen  of  our 
garden,  the  small  thing  cannot  but  feel  the 
wrench.  You  understand.  I  don't  want  my 
flower  to  forget  all  who  have  been  good  to  her 
in  her  cottage  garden ;  I  bless  their  unknown 
names  ;  but  now  —  it  is  different.  Life  suddenly 
opens  out  for  you  ;  you  are  beautiful  to  see  ;  you 
are  a  Baskerville  —  the  heiress  of  the  Baskervilles. 
Such  a  position  has  its  obligations.  Tell  me 
that  you  do  not  fear  them.  Tell  me  that  you 
are  prepared  to  face  the  toil  of  education,  the 
trouble  of  this  great  transplanting,  the  worry  of 
an  old  grandfather  who  will  be  jealous  presently 
of  the  ground  your  shadow  cools.  Can  you  begin 
to  understand  ?  Or  is  it  too  soon  ?  I  want  to 
be  first  in   your  love,  because  I   am   the   nearest. 


240  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

We  Iiave  both  been  very  lonely  —  though,  please 
God,  my  loneliness  vou  will  never  know.  Now 
we  have  found  each  other." 

"  I  love  vou  already,  grandfather." 
"  Then  I  am  content.  But  there  is  a  word  to 
be  spoken  yet.  I  see  trouble  in  your  face  and 
thoughts  about  a  matter  not  yet  broken  between 
us.  Speak  your  whole  heart  to  me.  Tell  me 
all   that  is  in   it." 

"  I  am  engaged  to  be  married,  grandfather." 
"  Why,  so  the  man  Newte  said  ;  and  Provi- 
dence was  kind  there,  too.  You  might  have 
been  a  wife  already.  When  the  poor  little  white 
violet  is  plucked,  some  roots  and  suckers  here 
and  there  may  have  to  part,  and  the  ground  that 
nourished  it  will  mourn  it  for  a  while.  I'm  full 
of  sympathy  for  you  already,  Sibella ;  more,  I 
heartily  sympathise  with  the  young  man  too, 
whomsoever  he  may  be.  I  shall  be  generous ; 
trust  me  for  that ;  we  will  heal  his  wound  hand- 
somely." 

The  girl  started  and  her  lips  parted  a  little. 
"  Can    you   speak   so   of  a   man    who   loves   a 
woman,  grandfather  ?  " 


FOR    DICK.  241 

"  I  can  speak  so  of  a  worthy  voung  farmer  and 
apple-grower  who  loves  Sibella  Baskerville,"  he 
answered. 

"  Yet,  Sibella  Baskerville  is  not  more  or  less 
than  Sib  Hatherlev.  If  I  was  indeed  a  princess, 
the  man  I  have  promised  to  marry  would  be  too 
good  for  me." 

"  If  you  think  so,  then  it  is  time  your  educa- 
tion began  in  earnest,  young  lady,"  said  Sir 
Archer,  and  a  little  of  the  emotion  died  out  of 
his  voice  as  he  drew  himself  up  and  glanced  over 
the  mantelpiece  at  a  picture  of  a  maternal  ances- 
tor by  Lely.  "You  have  yet  to  learn  all  that 
is  meant  by  '  heiress  of  the  Marldons.'  Cider 
is  good ;  it  seems  reasonable  that  there  should 
be  intelligent  and  capable  men  amongst  us  who 
still  make  a  study  of  the  apple  and  succeed  in 
producing  a  marketable  beverage  from  its  fruit. 
But  a  ciderist  is  not  the  husband  for  my  grand- 
daughter, and  my  granddaughter  must  grasp  that 
elemental  fact  as  a  prelude  to  her  education." 

"Your  granddaughter  will  never  grasp  the 
fact  that  she  must  not  marry  the  man  she  has 
promised   to   marry,   Sir  Archer." 


242  THK    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  Well,  well,  do  not  let  us  labour  that  point. 
The  cider-maker  will  probably  understand  it 
more  cjuickly   than    I  can   expect   you   to  yet." 

"  Richard  Gilbert  is  master  of  his  own  land, 
as  you   are,  sir.      His  family   is " 

She  broke  off,  for  the  old  man  fell  away 
from  her.  His  straight  back  bent,  he  groped 
with  his  hand  for  support  until  it  crooked  over 
the  back  of  a  high  chair;  then,  with  an  expres- 
sion from  which  benevolence  had  vanished,  he 
answered  :  — 

"That  man  of  all  others  —  the  son  of  Gregory 

Gilbert    and    of !      Call    back     your    words, 

Sibella.  You  say  this  to  try  me  because  you 
knew  —  to  tempt  me  into  anger.  Not  a  Gilbert; 
you   have  never  loved   Mary   Gilbert's  son  .''  " 

*'  He  is  good  and  honest,  and  holds  himself 
of  high  estate,  grandfather." 

"  Do  not  call  me  grandfather  again  while  you 
call  him  lover  !  You  insult  me  ;  vou  paint  the 
whole  picture  of  the  past  in  fresh,  crude  colours 
that  burn.  You  —  my  son's  child,  and  he  — 
her  son.  My  God!  after  all  these  years,  after 
the  shameful   thing   had  grown  a    little  dim  and 


FOR    DICK 


243 


only  tormented  me  when  the  wind  of  thought 
set  in  one  quarter.      Now,  now  ! " 

"  If  I  am  a  Baskerville,  it  is  well  that  I  should 
act  as  becomes  them,  sir." 

"You  are  no  Baskerville  unless  I  will  it!"  he 
cried.  "  That  is  your  sole  right  and  title  to 
the  high  name — there,  a  bundle  of  papers.  I 
throw  them  upon  the  fire  and  burn  them  and 
you  with  them,  headstrong  fool  of  a  girl  ! 
Would  a  Baskerville  think  twice  before  such 
an  error.''  You  loved  in  the  dark.  Who  is 
going  to  blame  you  ?  There  are  others  to  think 
of  beside  yourself.  Am  I  of  no  account  —  vour 
grandfather,  your  lawful  guardian  and  controller? 
Where  is  the  love  for  me  vou  professed  a 
moment  since  ?  " 

"  I  love  Richard  Gilbert  dearly.  We  are 
tokened.  I  have  promised  him  to  be  his  wife. 
Is  that  promise  less  binding  because  I  am  your 
granddaughter.   Sir  Archer  ?  " 

"  Emphatically  it  is.  Had  vou  come  home  as 
an  infant  to  me,  this  promise  would  never  have 
been  made.  There  can  be  no  shadow  of  obliga- 
tion anywhere.      We  are  faced  with   the   necessity 


244  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

of  obliterating  all  the  various  side-issues  sprung 
from  the  mistaken  theory  that  you  were  a 
peasant's  daughter  ;  and  this,  as  being  the  most 
serious,  we  will  take  first.  You  cannot  marry 
Richard  Gilbert  because  you  are  Sibella  Basker- 
ville." 

"  Yet  you  would  have  married  his  mother, 
sir." 

"  No  more  of  that,"  he  said,  his  anger  wrin- 
kling his  face.     "  It  ill  becomes  you  to  dare 

That  is  a  subject  upon  which  none  has  a 
right  to  breathe  one  word,  and  none  has  ever 
presumed  to  do  so.  Be  silent  upon  it  for  ever 
if  you   covet  love  of  mine." 

"  You  are  not  just,  Sir  Archer,  and  I  cannot 
love  you,"  she  said  sadly.  "  May  not  I  say  the 
one  word  that  might  show  you  how  much  you 
wrong  me  —  you,  who  know  what  love  is,  and 
whose  life  has  been  clouded  and  ruined  through 
it  ?  Why  do  you  wish  me  to  suffer  as  you  have 
suffered  ?  " 

"  Be  silent,  I  say,  or  leave  my  presence  !  To 
dare  to  dispute  with  your  grandfather !  Prove 
yourself  dutiful,  girl,  or  go  your  way  and   let  this 


FOR    DICK.  245 

interview  be  as  a  dream.  You  must  choose  — 
that  is  all  the  matter.  Shall  an  old,  wise  man 
argue  with  his  grandchild  ?  Ten  thousand  times 
ten  thousand  arguments  would  be  vain,  even  if 
I  listened  to  them.  If  he  had  been  one  who 
mended  the  roads  I  might  have  yielded  ;  but  he 
is  Richard  Gilbert.  There  is  nothing  more  to 
say  —  nothing.  Be  Sibella  Baskerville,  heiress 
of  the  Marldons  and  my  granddaughter,  or  be 
what  you  were  when  you  awoke  this  morning. 
I   will  give   you   five   minutes   to  choose." 

He  turned  his  back  upon  her  and  strode  up 
and  down,   his  eyes  upon  the   window. 

Sibella  made  no  oral  reply  ;  but  she  had  an- 
swered decisively  enough  by  the  time  the  knight 
turned  round  again.  She,  too,  lacked  not  the 
temper  of  her  house ;  her  sense  of  right  was 
bruised  by  her  grandfather's  rough  speech,  and 
it  stung  her  to  instant,  cruel  retort.  As  Sir 
Archer  turned,  his  eyes  noted  a  great  flame 
upon  the  hearth,  and  he  perceived  the  fateful 
papers,  crisping  and  curling,  all  ablaze  beyond 
possibility  of  rescue. 

Sibella  was  already  near  the  study  door. 


246  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  1  have  chosen,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I'll  be 
neither  Sib  Hatherley  nor  yet  Sibella  Baskerville, 
bur  just  Mrs.  Richard  Gilbert,  because  I've  given 
mv  word  so  to  be,  and  because  I  am  proud  to  be. 
I  cannot  live  without  my  Dick.  Your  servant  to 
command,  Sir  Archer." 

She  curtsied  gravely  in  the  pretty  ancient 
fashion,  and  was  gone  before  her  grandfather 
could  speak.  Then  the  old  man  surveyed  the 
smouldering  wreck  of  the  great  hope  kindled  but 
an  hour  before,  and  sank  down  into  his  chair,  and 
seemed  to  shrink  there,  even  as  the  blue  papers, 
now  withered  to  brown,  shrank  upon  the  hearth. 
He  looked  around  him,  half  rose  to  reach  the 
bell,  then  fell  back  again,  pressed  his  hands  close 
over  his  face,  and  so  remained  a  long  while  with- 
out any  movement. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

IN   Ralegh's  tower. 

THROUGH  the  deep  lanes  under  gather- 
ing twilight  Sibella  hastened,  and  set  her 
face  towards  Compton  Castle.  What  sud- 
den desire  prompted  her  to  seek  Crab  Hatherley 
at  this  great  pass  in  her  life  she  could  not  after- 
wards explain  ;  but  so  it  was,  and  now,  full  of  her 
experience  and  still  in  a  frame  of  mind,  quite  pow- 
erless to  realise  the  significance  of  her  hasty  deed, 
she  wandered  in  waning  light  where  autumn's 
courts  had  stood  but  were  no  more.  1  he  silver 
seed  of  clematis  still  covered  the  high  hedges  and 
fell  in  festoons  and  clusters  over  the  hazels  and 
thorns ;  here  and  there  flamed  out  a  maple, 
though  each  breath  scattered  its  dwindling  splen- 
dours ;  in  the  gloaming  the  royal  purple  of  the 
dog-wood  looked  almost  black  within  the  hedges, 
and  the  spindle-tree,  that  stood  like  a  burning 
bush  under  the  twilight,  thrust  orange-coloured 
seeds   through    the   split   cases    of  its    jiiiik   fruit. 

247 


248  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Among  those  flowers  that  still  struggled  to  live 
in  the  sere,  down-beaten  desolation  of  dead  rack, 
a  rosy  wild  basil  still  blossomed  feebly,  sturdy 
campions  opened  their  shining  stars,  and  wood 
strawberries  bloomed  trustfully  out  of  the  glim- 
mering mosses.  There  was  a  heavy  smell  of 
fungus  and  decaying  leaves  in  the  air,  a  fine 
sunset  reddened  the  fading  colours  of  the  leaves 
that  still   held  on,  and  the  robins  sang. 

In  a  field  beside  the  way  the  last  of  the  mangel- 
wurzels  were  being  gathered,  and  men,  bending 
low,  plodded  along  with  a  rhythmic  swing  and 
recurrent  harmonious  action  proper  to  their  work. 
Simultaneously  in  each  hand  they  pulled  up  two 
roots  from  earth,  then  jerked  their  wrists,  so  that 
the  great  turnips  fell  shorn  of  all  greenery.  The 
roots  dropped  together,  the  leaves  were  also 
thrown  down,  and  behind  each  labourer  extended 
long  regular  lines  —  one  of  mangels  awaiting  the 
cart,  one  of  the  shining  foliage.  Thus  genera- 
tions have  perfected  each  simple  manual  task 
upon  the  land,  and  the  wisdom  of  assemblies 
could  not  hit  a  happier  or  speedier  fashion  of 
drawing   turnips   than   that  arrived  at  by  the  wis- 


IN    RALEGH'S    TOWER.  249 

dom  of  the  fields.  Men  boast  themselves  of 
their  dexterity  in  this  sort,  and  you  shall  find 
the  folk  wholesomely  proud  of  their  powers  at 
cider-press  or  in  rick-yard,  jealous  of  fame  won 
upon  the  furrow  behind  the  plough,  of  reputation 
achieved  with  sheep-shears  or  bill-hook.  Such 
a  spirit  ennobles  labour,  and  lifts  the  humblest 
necessary  toil  above   meanness. 

Sibella  Baskerville  proceeded  with  her  wild 
thoughts  and  the  sunset  light  upon  her  face. 
She  gloried  in  the  thing  that  she  had  done.  Her 
soul  rose  against  this  adamantine  and  ancient 
heart  that  could  cherish  false  wrongs  for  so  many 
years,  that  could  seek  to  punish  a  child  for  the 
unreasonableness  of  its  grandfather.  She  told 
herself  that  this  old  man  was  mad  to  make  such 
cruel  stipulations  ;  she  breathed  again  as  one  who 
had  escaped  by  mercy  from  a  threatened  peril. 
Then,  growing  calmer  in  the  cool  evening  air, 
she  perceived  that  many  persons  ignorant  of 
what  love  meant  might  blame  her  for  an  idiotic 
sacrifice.  She  considered  how  that  policy  had 
temporised  with  such  a  problem  and  not  thrust 
a  splendid  possibility  into  the  first  fire  that  offered 


250  1  HE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

to  destroy  it.  Regret,  however,  she  was  quite 
incapable  of  feeling,  for  Sibella's  nature  was  too 
large,  her  love  too  true,  primitive,  whole-hearted, 
to  be  anything  less  than  the  mainspring  of  life. 
She  felt  no  sense  of  heroism  in  this  sacrifice  ;  she 
did  not  stop  to  appraise  her  deed ;  her  only 
moment  of  hesitation  came  before  the  thought 
that  Richard's  future  might  have  been  more 
blessed  as  the  husband  of  a  Baskerville  ;  but  she 
swept  that  reflection  away  with  a  breath,  for  as 
a  Baskerville,  Sir  Archer  had  distinctly  said  she 
should  not  marry  a  Gilbert.  Sibella  naturally 
determined  that  her  sweetheart  must  never  know 
of  the  incident;  and  by  the  time  she  reached 
Compton  Castle  her  ideas  had  undergone  a  fur- 
ther change,  and  her  object  in  coming  no  longer 
existed.  But  the  girl  held  on  her  way,  found 
Mr.  Hatherley  at  home,  and  stayed  a  few 
moments  to  speak  with   him. 

Crab,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  in  a  condition 
of  great  suppressed  excitement.  He  had  been 
drinking  tolerably  hard  and  counting  rainbow 
gold  since  his  interview  with  Alpheus  Newte ; 
therefore  this  unexpected  visit  from   Sibella   loos- 


IN    RALEGH'S    TOWER.  251 

ened  his  tongue,  and  she  discovered  from  his  hrst 
words  that  he  knew  the  secret  of  the  papers. 

Mr.  Hatherley  was  chopping  a  log  of  wood  to 
mend  his  hre,  that  he  might  boil  a  kettle,  when 
Sibella  appeared.  He  stopped  instantly  and  ad- 
vanced with  eager  eyes.  A  scent  of  spirits  was 
heavy  about  him,  and  he  had  not  shaved  for  a 
week.  The  girl  noted  the  familiar  spectacle,  but 
did  not  observe  a  jerky  and  abrupt  manner,  a 
blank  and  rolling  eye,  and  a  curious  twitching 
about  the  old  man's  limbs.  These  signs  had 
warned  one  familiar  with  crapulence  that  Nature's 
powers  were  nearly  exhausted  and  a  storm  was 
threatening. 

"  Evening  to  'e.  Miss  Baskerville,"  he  said. 
"  So  they  papers  as  was  lost  an'  found  again  held 
a  proper  dollop  of  news  !  I  found  'em  ;  I  dis- 
covered who  you  was.  Did  Newte  tell  you 
that  ?  " 

"  No,  he  didn't,  Mr.  Hatherley." 

Crab's  forehead  wrinkled  down  over  his  eye- 
brows, and  he  scratched  the  bald  surface  ot  his 
head. 

"God   rot   un!      I    don't    trust    un  ;     I    'most 


252  THK    CiOOl)    RKD    EAR  IH. 

wish  I'd  gone  to  you,  but  you  never  cared  for 
me.  Blast  the  world  !  —  coine  to  think  of  it, 
nobody  to  care  for  me ;  an'  me  so  poor  an'  so 
auld." 

"  I'm  sure  I  was  always  good  to  you,  Mr. 
Hatherley,  when  I  thought  I  was  your  relation.'" 

"  And  now  —  now  you  knaw  you  ban't. 
You'll  mind  that  I  was  a  gude  uncle  to  'e. 
You'll  not  be  backward  to  reward  a  poor  auld 
chap,  will  'e  ?  Sir  Archer  will  pay  handsome 
if  he's  the  gentleman  us  all  thinks  him ;  but 
Newte's  got  a  finger  in  that  pie  because  I'm  not 
eggicated,  an'  my  head  hurts  if  I  think  tu  long 
about  all  this  mystery  an'  how  to  act  for  the  best. 
God  knaws  I  awnly  want  to  do  my  duty  by 
everybody.  An'  you  —  you,  mv  little  Sib,  as 
I  have  dandled  in  these  here  hands,  and  filled  'e 
wi'  bread-an'-milk  till  you  was  so  plump  as  a 
Christmas  rabbit  —  you'll  be  generous  to  the 
auld  chap,  won't  'e  ?  'Twas  my  care  an'  fore- 
thought as  saved  the  dockyments ;  'tis  me,  not 
that  blackbeetle  Newte,  as  you've  got  to  thank 
for   vour   salvation." 

"  I'm  glad    I    came,  since   vou    understand    all 


IN    RALEGH'S    TOWER.  253 

about  it,"  she  said  calmly.  "  But,  knowing  the 
papers  were  mine,  you  should  have  given  them 
to   me  and   nobody   else,    Mr.    Hatherley." 

He  eyed  her  with  suspicion. 

" 'Twas  for  your  gude,  lovey.  I  read  'em, 
'cause  I  thought  if  theer  was  anything  bad  in 
'em  as  might  hurt  vour  soft  heart,  I'd  burn  'em 
an'  spare  you  a  sorrow^  ;  then,  when  I  found  how 
you  was  the  darter  of  his  lordship's  son,  I  felt 
'twas  tu  gert  a  matter  to  put  in  your  tender  'ands. 
Newte  swore  solemn  awnly  to  take  a  moiety  an' 
a  half;  but  he've  got  the  cunning  of  the  sarpent 
whether  or  no,  an'  if  he  plays  me  false  again  — 
why,  I'll  wring  his  fat  neck  like  a  capon,  an' 
watch  un  put  out  his  lying  tongue  an'  turn 
purple,  an'   kick  out   his  life  onder  mv  hands  !  " 

"'Again,'  Mr.  Hatherley?  Has  Mr.  Newte 
done  you  a  wrong  before  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  thousand  pound,"  began  Crab, 
with  righteous  wrath  ;  then,  even  through  his 
bemuddled  understanding,  there  shot  a  ray  of 
light.  It  was  clearly  impossible  to  tell  the  story 
of  Gammer  Hatherley's  thousand  pounds  to 
Sibella.     " 'Tis    done  —  an     auld    story  —  an'     I 


254  I^HE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

try  to  forget  and  forgive  them  as  wrong  me ; 
but  you  —  vou,  miss  —  for  I  must  call  'e  miss 
an*  touch  my  forehead  to  'e  henceforrard  —  you 
won't  forget  what  I've  done  for  'e,  and  how  I've 
lifted  up  vour  head  in  the  land  and  made  a  great 
lady  of  'e  ?  You  won't  forget  poor  auld  Joshua, 
will   'e  ?  " 

"  I'm  never  likely  to  forget  you,  or  this  day," 
said  Sibella.  "  You'll  naturally  be  anxious  to 
hear  what  has  happened.  After  my  dinner  I 
went  with  Mr.  Newte  to  the  Court.  First  he 
saw  Sir  Archer,  and  then  I  did.  What  happened 
between  Mr.  Newte  and  my  grandfather  I  do 
not  know ;  but  I  can  tell  you  what  happened 
when   I   saw  him." 

She  related  the  incidents  of  the  afternoon, 
and  as  the  dusk  gathered  in,  failed  to  notice 
the  effect  of  her  information  until  it  burst  from 
the  disappointed  man. 

"  With  the  burning  of  those  papers,"  she 
concluded,  "  my  short  spell  as  Miss  Sibella 
Baskerville  came  to  an  end.  1  hev  cannot  be 
replaced,  because  they  were  copies  of  registers 
kept  in  a    little  foreign   church   somewhere,  and 


IN    RALEGH'S    TOWER.  255 

it  has  been  burnt  down  and  destroyed  bv  sav- 
ages, in  the  middle  of  Africa.  So  I  am  Sib 
Hatherley  again,  1  suppose  —  until  I  am  Sib 
Gilbert." 

"  God  in  Heaven  !  "  roared  the  old  man, 
"  you  sit  there  like  a  stone  image  and  tell  me 
this !  You'll  settle  the  future  of  grown  men ; 
you'll  fling  my  hard-won  reward  into  the 
gutter,  to  feed  your  own  paltry  cranks  and 
fancies!  All  gone;  all  burnt  in  the  fire  by  a 
fool  —  my  thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds. 
Then  I'll  take  payment  from  you  !  There's 
hands  pointing  all  around  you,  and  eyes  wink- 
ing, and  black  tongues  wagging  betwixt  red- 
hot  lips ;  and  they  sez,  '  Take  your  payment 
from  her  what  have  ruined  'e  !  '  An'  so  I 
will,   you  cursed,   curd-faced   she-devil  !  " 

He  started  to  his  feet,  swayed  unsteadily  a 
moment,  then  recovered  himself  and  picked  up 
his  wood-chopper. 

"  You'm  doomed  for  death!"  he  cried.  "I'll 
kill  you  ;  I'll  stretch  vou  out  a  corpse  for 
your  blasted  man  to  find;  I'll  brain  you  and 
hide    you    in    the    dungeon    down     under    whcer 


256  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

the  rats'U  have  theer  way  with  'e,  and  gnaw 
your  wicked  cat's  heart  out  of  'e.  You,  as 
won't  be  a  Baskerville,  shall  damn  soon  be 
nought   hut   flesh   an'   bones  !  " 

He  moved  towards  her,  round  a  table  that 
happily  separated  them,  and  Sib  edged  away 
until  the  iloor  was  at  her  back.  Then  she 
darted  through  it,  hoping  to  escape  to  the  main 
entrance,  where  her  fleetness  of  toot  would  soon 
serve  to  distance  the  old  man.  But  the  main 
door  in  the  castle's  front  was  shut,  with  a  huge 
beam  for  bolt,  and  Sibella  knew  from  experi- 
ence that  to  open  it  took  more  time  than  her 
enemy  would  grant.  She  turned  sharply,  there- 
fore, avoided  the  delirious  old  savage  behind 
by  a  few  yards  only,  and  dashed  down  a  stone 
passage-way  into  the  open  courtyard.  From 
here  was  one  egress  only  —  that  which  pierced 
the  western  wall.  Up  to  this  led  those  shallow 
fern-clad  steps  where  Sibella  had  sat  with  Mr. 
Newte ;  and  once  through  the  door  at  the  top 
of  them  she  had  been  safe  enough,  for  in  the 
wide  garden  outspread  beyond,  her  pursuer  must 
have  lost  her  in  darkness  ;  while  easy  escape  lay 


IN    RALEGH'S   TOWER.  257 

through  the  orchard  lands.  Here,  however, 
as  ill  chance  decreed,  the  door  in  the  wall  was 
shut,  and,  desiring  no  brutal  death  upon  the 
altar  of  that  quaint  and  ancient  stairway,  the 
girl  rushed  round  and  round  the  courtyard, 
and  screamed  for  aid  as  she  did  so.  But  Crab 
Hatherley's  wit  saved  his  heels.  He  knew 
that  Sibella  was  now  powerless  to  escape  from 
him  unless  help  came,  and  so,  stopping,  he 
picked  up  a  heavy  stone  and  hurled  it  at  her, 
hoping  thus  to  maim  the  unfortunate  girl  and 
bring  her  within  reach  of  his  heavy  weapon. 
The  great  stone  flew  wide,  and  Sibella,  alarmed 
in  earnest  now  that  she  realised  her  terrible 
danger,  turned  giddy  for  a  moment,  and 
clutched  the  ivy-clad  wall  behind  her.  She 
strung  herself  to  renewed  action  in  time,  for 
his  second  missile  bruised  her  shoulder  ;  and 
then  she  fled  like  a  trapped  creature  round  and 
round  the  walls  before  him  and  finally  ran  into 
the  huge,  ancient  kitchen,  whose  yawning  chim- 
ney stretched  clean  across  one  side  ot  the 
chamber.  From  here  through  the  adjacent 
buttery    Sibella     fled,     and     then     hurried    up    a 


258        thp:  good  red  earth. 

winding  staircase  that  communicated  with  ruined 
rooms  above.  Cracked  laughter  echoed  after 
her,  hke  hoarse  joy  of  a  ghoul,  for  now  the 
old  drunkard  below  had  his  victim  safe  enough. 
Her  only  escape  from  Ralegh's  Tower  must  be 
by  death.  Up  the  steep  stair  she  hastened,  saw 
one  ruddy  gleam  above  the  tree-tops  as  she 
passed  a  broken  cross-bow  window,  and  then 
reached  a  perishing  and  dilapidated  apartment 
that  was  full  of  dust,  cobwebs,  and  dry  rot 
aflame  in  the  dying  sunset.  This  spot  tradi- 
tion specially  associated  with  the  hero  whose 
name  the  tower  bore ;  and  creeping  to  the 
chimney  of  it,  Sibella  pressed  against  a  buttress 
and  tried  to  hide  there.  Now  she  kept  silent 
as  death,  and  the  only  sound  was  a  hoarse 
snorting  in  the  turret  as  Crab  clambered  aloft. 
But  the  way  was  dark  and  the  man  anything 
but  steady  upon  his  legs.  Sibella  crept  closer 
into  the  gloom  of  the  chimney  ;  then  a  bat, 
startled  by  her  action,  flickered  suddenly  out 
and  dashed  for  the  doorway  just  as  Mr.  Hather- 
ley's  ugly  face  and  grinning  teeth  appeared  in  it. 
The    creature  went  past  his  ear,  and    he  started 


IN    RALEGH'S    TOWER.  259 

backward  ;  his  foot  slipped,  his  hand  was 
wrenched  from  the  granite  lintel,  and  he  van- 
ished. There  resounded  a  tremendous  crash, 
followed  by  two  voices  uplifted  in  loud  expres- 
sions of  wrath  and  cries  of  pain.  But  the 
groan  that  reached  Sibella's  ears  out  of  the 
silence  that  succeeded  her  enemy's  downfall 
did  not  come  from  the  throat  of  Crab  Hath- 
erley.  Two  men  lay  below,  one  with  a  broken 
leg,  the  other  quite  unconscious  but  uninjured, 
save  for  a  flesh-wound  in  his  thigh  where  he 
had  fallen  upon   his  own  bill-hook. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A     PROPHECY. 

AFTER  leaving  Sibella  with  her  grand- 
father, Mr.  Newte  ambled  home  to  his 
cottage  in  a  most  contented  frame  of 
mind.  Sir  Archer  had  proved  even  more  rea- 
sonable than  the  pastor  expected,  and  results 
appeared  both  certain  and  satisfactory.  That 
Sibella  would  upset  his  hopes  was  quite  the  last 
thing  deemed  likely  in  the  mind  of  Alpheus ; 
indeed,  a  possibility  of  any  difference  between 
the  heiress  of  the  Baskervilles  and  the  head  of 
her  family  had  not  entered  his  calculations. 
His  thoughts  as  he  returned  to  Lower  Marldon 
were  otherwise  occupied.  Again  he  pictured  the 
dramatic  position  had  Sibella  accepted  his  own 
offer  of  hand  and  heart ;  and  from  that  vision 
he  turned  to  the  reality  of  Richard  Gilbert. 
Mr.  Newte  had  already  determined  to  take  no 
step  in  that  matter  and  leave  the  young  man's 
dismissal     to     Sibella,     when      Richard     himself 

260 


A    PROPHECY.  261 

appeared  from  a  turnip-field  that  was  being  por- 
tioned out  for  sheep,  and  accompanied  Alpheus 
towards  Lower  Marldon. 

Upon  this  accident  Mr.  Newte  changed  his 
mind,  and  from  motives  frankly  benevolent 
decided  to  mention  the  great  matter  of  the  day. 
By  so  doing  he  trusted  that  a  painful  but  neces- 
sary ordeal  might  be  anticipated  for  Sibella,  and 
a  little  robbed  of  its  sting  from  young  Gilbert's 
standpoint. 

"  Good-evening,  Richard,"  he  said.  "  I  per- 
ceive that  you  have  been  setting  up  hurdles  with 
your  own  hand.  Good  exercise  for  a  strong 
young  back,  and  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of, 
believe  me." 

"  I  reckon  not.  'Tis  the  farmers  who  are 
ashamed  of  their  work  that  fail." 

"Very  true  —  a  noble  calling.  Our  first 
parent  may  be  described  as  a  farmer  in  a  small 
way  —  hardly,  however,  a  '  gentleman-farmer  '  as 
we  understand  that  ridiculous  term.  But  from  a 
line  of  agricultural  ancestors  dating  back  to  Adam 
—  if  you  could  find  the  links  —  you  come." 

"As  to  that,  if  1   could  find   the   links,  as   you 


262  THK    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

sav,  I  should  find  some  pretty  big  people  be- 
tween me  and  Adam,  I  believe.  They  laugh, 
but  some  day  perhaps  I'll  prove  it.  My  father 
always  held  that  proof  only  wanted  patient  seek- 
ing. Meantime  we're  yeomen,  and  well  thought 
of  back   to  Charles  the  Second  or  thereabout." 

"  That  is  fur  enough.  You  have  an  honour- 
able record  — good  men  married  to  good  women 
of  their  own  station  in  life.  A  man's  a  fool  to 
look  above  him  or  below  him  for  his  partner. 
The  truly  wise  never  wed  out  of  their  class." 

"I   suppose  they  don't." 

"Never.  Consider  the  difficulties.  Imagine, 
tor  instance,  that  you  were  engaged  to  a  woman 
of  fortune  —  an  heiress  of  high  birth." 

"  I   can't  imagine  such   folly." 

"  Richard,  stand  still  and  listen.  A  great 
trial  awaits  you  —  no  less  than  the  shattering 
of  all    your  plans  and  projects   for   happiness." 

Gilbert  stopped  as   he  was  bid. 

"What  devil's  trick  are  you  up  to  now?  If 
you  mean  Sibella,  or  anything  to  do  with  her, 
I'll   break   your  neck!" 

"  Once    more    assault    and    hatterv    threatened 


A    PROPHECY.  263 

against  me  —  twice  within  a  day.  Quite  roman- 
tic, I'm  sure.  But  you  mighty  soon  grow 
weary  of  such  romance  if  you're  over  fifty  years 
old.  In  fact,  it  shatters  the  nerves.  1  do 
mean  Sibella  ;  and  you  mustn't  break  my  neck, 
because  I  have  no  voice  in  the  matter.  Briefly, 
Sibella  had  a  father  and  a  mother.  Who  were 
they  .?  " 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  know  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do. 
Alas  !  my  dear  Dick,  we  are  on  the  brink  of  a 
sad  tragedy  here.  I  did  not  mean  to  seek  you. 
I  had  proposed  to  leave  it  to  Sibella,  for  it  is  no 
business  of  mine.  But  Providence  willed  that 
we  should  meet  while  my  mind  was  seething 
with  this  great  affair.  I  have  in  tact  just  come 
from  seeing  Sir  Archer  Baskerville." 

"  What's  all   this   rigmarole  to   me  ?  " 

"  It's  vital  to  you.  Your  Sibella  —  yours  no 
longer  —  has  been  lifted  up,  exalted,  raised  above 
all  our  heads.  The  truth  has  come  to  light. 
Those  mysterious  papers  that  were  lost  are  found 
again  ;  they  have  been  through  my  hands." 

"  They  were  Sibella's." 


264  rilH    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  She  is  probably  studying  them  at  this  mo- 
iTicnt.  It  is  easily  conceivable  that  she  is  sitting 
with  her  niouth  and  her  eyes  wide  open  before 
the  astounding  information  that  they  will  convey 
to  her.  She  was  not  the  daughter  of  William 
Hatherley,  but  the  daughter  of  his  master,  Roger 
Baskerville,  got  in  lawful  wedlock.  She  is  in 
fact   Sibella   Baskerville,  heiress   of  Sir   Archer." 

"It's  a  lie!" 

"  It  is  as  true  as  anything  I  have  heard  for 
years.  The  written  word  remains.  We  have 
documents  —  priceless  in  that  they  cannot  be 
replaced.  They  attest  the  fact  bevond  the  least 
possibility  of  doubt.  Hatherley  fathered  her 
at  the  wish  of  her  real  father.  She  is  at  this 
moment  in  the  presence  of  her  grandparent. 
These  things  you  must  know  —  the  sooner  the 
better.  Her  duty  is  of  course  quite  transparent. 
Greater  than  she  have  had  to  smother  their 
young  heart's  love.  That  the  girl  will  suffer 
acutely  we  both  of  us  can  believe.  It  must, 
however,  rest  with  you  to  make  her  task  as  easy 
as  possible.  I  really  do  feel  for  vou  more  than 
I  can  put  into  words.      You  have  been  very  rude 


A    PROPHECY.  265 

to  me  on  several  occasions.  Yet,  such  is  the 
spirit  that  guides  my  life,  that  now  I  can  sympa- 
thise with  you  in  your  tribulations.  I  shall  pray 
for  you  to-night.  There  is  only  one  course 
open,  and  that  is  to  anticipate  Sibella  and  give 
her  up  like  a  man,  '  With  an  auspicious  and  a 
dropping  eye,'  as  Shakespeare  says,  I  tell  you 
these  things.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  glad  for 
the  girl,  and  quite  resigned  for  my  own  part." 

"  Your  part.''    You  said  your  part  was  nothing." 

"  I  erred.  As  the  humble  instrument  I  have 
my  measure  of  responsibility.  The  documents 
concerning  this  remarkable  matter  were  put  into 
mv  hands  last  night  by  that  local  ruffian,  Crab 
Hatherley.  He  but  dimly  guessed  the  signifi- 
cance of  them ;  I,  on  the  contrary,  sat  up  all 
night  with   them  —  with    them   and   my    Bible." 

"And  made  a  hard  bargain  this  morning,  I'll 
swear." 

"Why  swear?  Don't  be  bitter  about  it.  I 
made  a  bargain  very  much  the  reverse  ot  hard. 
In  fact,  with  a  sort  of  native  timidity  before  my 
betters  —  a  sort  of  humility  entirely  to  my  credit 
—  I  left  it  to  Sir  Archer  himself.      I  ha\-e  reason 


266  'IHK    CiOOD    RKD    EARTH. 

to  believe  he  will  treat  me  with  justice,  but  not 
generosity  ;  a  thousand  pounds  or  so  is  likely  to 
be  the  figure." 

"  How  has  Sibella  taken  this  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  Wisely,  be  sure.  Never 
did  I  meet  a  young  woman  with  such  natural 
ability  and  good  sense.  I  believe  these  gifts  to 
be  most  uncommon  in  her  exalted  class  of  life." 

"  A  Baskerville  !     That  of  all  things  !  " 

"  It  has  its  dramatic  significance.  Here  is  your 
mother.  Why,  she  seems  a  part  of  this  spacious 
orchard,  as  I  always  say  —  haunts  it  like  some 
spirit  of  old  time.  Place  this  sad,  startling  event 
before  her,  and  learn  what  she  thinks,  Richard." 

The  other  did  not  answer,  and  together  they 
approached  Mary  Gilbert  where  she  stood  in 
thought  alone  under  the  apple-trees.  A  misty 
golden  light  winnowed  from  the  western  sky, 
and  the  woman  occupied  a  little  clearing  in  the 
midst  of  it.  Beside  her  reclined  an  ancient  tree 
already  mentioned.  It  had  been  broken  down  in 
the  gale  of  the  preceding  winter;  yet  under  these 
maimed  conditions  the  ruin  had  obeyed  Nature, 
budded,  blossomed,  and  borne. 


A    PROPHECY.  267 

"  Good-evening,  Dame  Gilbert,"  said  Mr. 
Newte,  bowing  and  taking  off  his  hat.  "  You 
stand  here  a  guardian  ot  these  venerable  and 
moss-grown  trunks.  What  a  lesson  at  your 
elbow  !  Crushed  to  earth,  yet  not  conquered  — 
a  patriarciial  'Tom  Putt'  is  it,  or  a  '  huff  coat '.'' " 

"  The  tree  must  go.  I  want  its  room,  Richard. 
'Tis  here  that  Sibella  shall  set  up  her  sapling  the 
day  that  she  comes  to  us,"  answered  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

Her  son  laughed  bitterly,  and  she  quicklv 
perceived  that  he  was  in  deep  distress  of  mind. 
Paying  no  attention  to  Mr.  Newte,  his  mother 
approached  Dick  and  lifted  her  placid  eyes  to 
his  face  with  a  question.  But  Richard  left  it  to 
Alpheus. 

"Ask  him,"  he  said;  "he'll  tell  you.  'Tisn't 
his  fault  this  awful  thing  has  happened,  and  yet 
I  hate  him,  for  never  a  man  brought  worse  news 
to  another,  and  did  it  more  as  if  he  liked  it." 

Now  this  was  not  the  case,  and  Mr.  Newte 
felt  hurt.  He  sighed  and  shook  his  head,  then, 
with  less  circumlocution  than  was  habitual  to  him, 
retraced  the  great  discovery,  and  toKl  how  Sibella 
had   been   lett  with  Sir  Archer  Baskcrville  to  hear 


268  IHK    Ci(X)D    RED    EARTH. 

first  from  the  knight  himself  the  true  story  of  her 
parentage. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  listened  with  evident  wonder,  but 
made  no  comment  when  the  pastor  ceased  speak- 
ing. Instead,  she  turned  to  Richard,  and  put 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  where  he  sat  on  the 
fallen  tree  flogging  his  leggings  with  a  hazel-switch. 

"  Speak,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Surely  now's  no 
time  for  silence.  'Tis  a  strange,  terrible  thing. 
I  can't  measure  it  all.  Is  it  to  be  fatal  to  me  ? 
Something  says  'twill  be ;  yet  something  hopes 
against  hope.  I  loved  her  with  all  my  soul,  an' 
she  loved  me  the  same  way.  Must  I  give  her 
up  ?      Say  it  if  I    must." 

"In  these  overpowering  cases,  conscience  has 
a  painful  habit  of  speaking  to  us  with  a  trumpet 
voice,"  began  Mr.  Newte,  but  Richard  cut  him 
short. 

"  I  ask  my  mother,  not  you.  I've  had  enough 
of  your  trumpet  voice  for  one  day,  anyway." 

"  Couldn't  do  better,  lad  ;  for  nobody's  likely 
to  understand  the  height  and  depth  of  this  event 
better  than  your  parent,"  retorted  the  pastor 
imperturbed. 


A    PROPHECY.  269 

Then  there  was  a  silence  until  the  woman  broke 
it.  She  spoke  with  her  face  turned  to  Compton 
Castle. 

"  'Tis  the  lot  of  few  to  be  faced  with  such  a 
mighty  thing.  And  but  short  time  allowed  to 
make  up  her  young  mind  in,  if  I  know  her 
grandfather.      To  think  of  him  before  this  coil!" 

"  But  think  of  me,  mother." 

"  Your  part's  the  hardest,  Richard,  for  'tis  a 
case  where  the  man's  part  is  what  a  man  always 
finds  hardest :  to  do  nought  at  a  great  moment. 
You've  got  to  look  on  and  see  the  girl  make  up 
her  mind.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  my  son,  but  Sibella 
must  decide." 

"  You  make  a  dummy  of  me  !  "  he  burst  out. 
"  Don't  you  know  me  better  than  to  suppose  I 
would — would  let  her  take  me  now,  even  if  I 
had  the  power  to  ?  She's  a  Baskerville,  and  the 
poison  will  begin  to  work  in  her  veins  as  soon  as 
she  knows  it.  Anyway,  I'm  a  man,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  sleep  on  this.  And,  come  what  may,  it's 
my  place  to  smooth  the  road  for  her." 

"  My  own  idea  put  in  words  not  so  well  chosen 
as  mine,"  murmured  Mr.  Newte. 


270  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  She  will  decide,  and  nothing  you  can  say  or 
do  will  alter  her  decision,"  repeated  Richard's 
mother.  "  I  know  women,  and  I  know  this  young 
one  and  the  stock  she  springs  from.  Your  salva- 
tion may  lie  in  the  fact  that  she's  a  Baskerville, 
for  with  all   their  faults,  they  never  change." 

"  D'you  think  I'd  marry  her  now?  D'you 
think  if  she  went  upon  her  knees  to  me  I  would 
do  this  thing?  My  love  for  Sibella's  the  most 
unselfish  love  in  the  world.  Gilberts  have  some 
strength  of  will,  I  believe,  as  well  as  Baskervilles. 
What  would  you  say,  and  what  would  you  think 
of  me,  if  I  stood  between  Sibella  and  her  lawful 
inheritance  ?  " 

"  Her  inheritance  is  in  the  hand  of  Almighty 
God,"  said  Mary  Gilbert.  "You  can't  stand 
between  her  and  that.  She's  a  free  agent,  and 
she'll  go  the  way  her  heart  tells  her.  You  don't 
know  the  nature  of  a  woman's  love.  You've 
promised  to  marry  her,  and,  if  she  keeps  you  to 
that  promise,  who  are  you  to  turn  back  from  it?" 

Mr.  Newte's  opinion  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  as  a 
woman  of  sense,  underwent  instantaneous  change 
upon  this  utterance. 


A    PROPHECY.  271 

"  The  doctrine  of  free  will  doesn't  meet  the 
case,  if  I  may  speak,"  he  said.  *'  For  once  I'm 
bound  to  say  I  think  that  my  young  friend  is 
right  and  his  mother  is  wrong.  Would  you  trade 
upon  a  maiden  love  —  an  attachment  beautiful 
enough  and  real  enough,  I  grant,  but,  neverthe- 
less, a  thing  entered  into  upon  a  wrong  basis  — 
upon  a  total  misapprehension  of  the  facts  ?  When 
you're  dealing  with  a  suddenly  revealed  and  un- 
suspected truth,  surely  you  must  see  that  the 
case  is  altered  !  Sibella  Baskerville  would  not  be 
justified  in  keeping  her  promise  any  more  than 
Richard  would  be  justified  in  asking  her  to  do  so." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "oil  is  as  good 
as  vinegar,  and  the  Gilberts  are  worthy  mates  for 
Baskervilles  so  far  as  blood  goes.  But  the  case 
so  stands  between  me  and  Archer  Baskerville,  that 
he  would  rather  see  this  new-found  granddaughter 
in  her  cofiin  than  married  to  any  son  of  mine. 
Therefore  the  question  of  fitness  or  unfitness  does 
not  rise.  Sibella  must  decide.  You  may  storm 
and  flog  your  temper  into  a  whirlwind,  Richard 
Gilbert,  but  Sibella  Baskerville  will  marry  you  if 
she  chooses,  or  will  abandon  you  if  she  finds  her- 
self of  that  mind." 


2?2 


THE    G0013    RKI)    EARTH. 


"  Not  if  I  can  prevent  it.  I  never  heard  you 
speak  so  much  and  to  such  poor  purpose,  mother. 
My  brain's  on  fire.  Oh,  my  words  strangle  one 
another  in  coming  out!  To  think  that  you  — 
you,  my  own  mother  —  should  believe  a  Gilbert 
no  stronger  than  that.  Picture  me  passing  tiie 
Court  !  Think  of  me,  when  this  man  dies  and 
another  rules  over  the  lands  that  Sibella  should 
have  had  ;  and  every  blade  of  grass  would  stab 
her  great  surrender  into  me.  You'll  drive  me 
mad  if  you  say  again  that  the  decision  rests  with 
her.  I'll  prove  you're  wrong.  God's  my  judge 
that  I'll  prove  you're  utterly  wrong  before  I  sleep 
to-night." 

"  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself, 
Dick,"  retorted  his  mother  calmly;  "and  I  know 
Sibella  better  than  you  know  her.  'Tis  your  love, 
not  hers,  that's  turned  into  poison  while  you  can 
talk  that  way." 

"  He's  too  proud  to  marry  any  woman  better 
off  than  himself,  ma'am  —  too  proud  and  too 
much  a  man.  I  honour  him  for  his  candour," 
declared  Alpheus  Newte. 

"  He's   speaking   away   from    the   book   of  his 


A    PROPHF.CY.  273 

heart,"  she  answered.  "  This  thunder-storm  will 
pass.  P'or  my  part,  lands  and  houses  and  great 
riches  be  all  dust  in  the  balance  against  a  well- 
deep,  lasting  love.  I  know — I  that  speak  to 
you.  I  had  to  make  mv  choice  forty  years  ago, 
even  as  Sib  has  now.  Was  mv  husband,  Gregory 
Gilbert,  any  the  less  a  man  because  he  took  me  at 
my  word  and  gived  me  what  I  wanted  best  in  the 
world  —  himself? " 

"  But  the  cases  are  by  no  means  parallel," 
ventured    Mr.   Newte.       If  I    may   speak " 

"  Speech  is  vain.  The  girl  will  decide,  and  so 
all's  said.  Ay!  fly  off,"  she  added,  surveying 
Richard  as  he  strode  away  with  a  mind  dis- 
traught. "Go  to  her  —  that's  the  wisest  thing 
you  can  do.  You'll  not  take  it  from  a  mother. 
What  son  would,  belike  ?  But  go  to  her,  and 
hear  the  voice  of  her,  and  look  into  the  eyes  of 
her.  Then  my  young  lion  will  be  a  sucking 
dove  again,  and  he'll  come  home  knowing  one 
scrap  more  of  what's  in  women." 

She  watched  her  son  depart,  and  her  eyes  were 
soft,  and  a  sort  of  grave  smile  hovered  about  her 
mouth. 


274  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

**  I  am  shattered,"  said  Mr.  Newte  as  silence 
fell.  "  1  am  mentally  shattered  to  find  such  a 
sensible  person  as  yourself,  Mrs.  Gilbert,  taking 
such  a  deplorable,  fairy-tale  sort  of  view  of  th\s 
problem.  One  who  usually  can  see  the  point  of 
an  affair  so  clearly,  too." 

"  'Tis  just  a  simple  question  of  what  their 
young  love  is  worth,"  she  answered.  "  Great 
possessions  can't  keep  a  man  and  maid  apart  if 
they'm  of  a  mind.  I  know  the  fibre  that  goes 
to  true  love;  and  this  girl's  ways  and  manner 
of  thought  have  told  me  all  about  her.  Rich- 
ard's a  man,  and  has  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
the  word,  for  you  males  get  to  the  end  of  your 
lives,  so  often  as  not,  without  knowing  true  love 
at  all.  But  my  son  be  lucky,  for  now  he'm 
bound  to  see  what  love  means  to  a  maid  of  the 
olden  sort.  He  might  never  have  known  the 
greatness  of  what  this  girl  feels  for  him  —  now 
he  will." 

"  I  hope  rather  that  he  will  ascertain  the 
greatness  of  her  common-sense  and  self-control, 
ma'am.  I  really  trust  that  she  will  have  the 
wisdom  to  perceive  that  she  owes  a  dead   father 


A    PROPHECY.  275 

something,  to  make  no  mention  of  a  live  grand- 
father." 

"Not  ghosts  nor  yet  grandfathers  have  power 
to  drag  up  a  true-planted  love  by  the  roots. 
You  don't  know,  because  you're  outside  and 
never  was  inside,  if  I  can  read  you.  Only  take 
what  you  feel  deepest  about;  what's  closest  to 
the  mainspring  of  your  being,  Alpheus  Newte. 
Whether  'tis  God  or  gold  you  alone  know  best; 
but  take  it  and  multiply  it  ten  million  times,  and 
ten  million  more,  and  ten  million  to  that ;  then 
you'll  see  figures  that  be  not  a  half  or  a  hundred 
part  of  the  love  a  real  woman  can  feel  for  a 
man." 

"Though  the  mathematics  have  always  been 
a  delight  to  me,  Mrs.  Gilbert,  I  never  yet  got 
into  millions  ;  and  as  for  the  mainspring  of  my 
being,  it  can't  really  be  made  a  matter  of  figures. 
I  and  my  Maker  both  know  that  perfectly  well. 
But  as  to  human  love,  really  so  much  has  been 
said  on  the  subject  that,  at  this  date,  I  don't 
know  that  anything  of  importance  can  be  added." 

"Not  by  you,  I'm  very  sure.  But  all  living 
things   that  have  felt    it    can    add    something,  if 


276  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

'tis  only  a  man's  sigh  or  a  maid's  song.  Go 
vour  way,  there's  a  good  soul,  and  leave  this 
riddle  to  answer  itself.  You  won't  be  asked  to 
play  judge  between  'em,  nor  yet  shall  1.  They'll 
do  what's  in  them  to  do  without  help  or  hin- 
drance from  outside." 

"You  sav  so,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  Well,  we  shall 
see.  1  he  voung  are  hasty.  Sometimes  a  word 
in  season " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  Mr.  Newte  departed 
in  some  anxiety.  He  confessed  to  himself  that 
the  possibility  of  Sibella  acting  like  a  fool  had 
not  occurred  to  him  ;  but  the  more  he  reflected 
upon  such  an  event  the  less  likely  it  appeared, 
and  he  was  nearly  at  peace  again  by  the  time  he 
reached  his  home. 

Meanwhile  Dick,  in  a  highly  tragical  frame 
of  mind,  took  a  short  cut  for  Higher  Marldon 
and  the  temporary  home  of  Sibella.  His  way 
led  by  good  chance  along  the  outer  walls  of 
Compton  Castle,  and  so  it  happened  that  he  had 
not  passed  out  of  earshot  from  the  pile  when 
Sibella's  scream  for  help  awakened  the  drowsy 
dusk.      Richard  stopped  in  this  stride,  but  waited 


A    PROPHECY.  277 

only  for  a  repetition  of  the  frantic  cry  to  change 
his  road  and  take  the  nearest  way  to  the  castle. 
Through  the  outer  orchard  he  raced  ;  then  into 
the  garden  ;  and  finally  down  the  ferny  steps  his 
sweetheart's  feet  had  approached  but  a  minute 
before.  Now  he  heard  the  cry  above  him  in 
Ralegh's  Tower,  and  he  knew  the  voice  that 
uttered  it.  Then  young  Gilbert  rushed  to  the 
ruined  wing  of  the  fabric,  crossed  the  great 
kitchen  and  dashed  headlong  up  the  staircase 
beyond  it.  But  here  his  career  was  roughly  cut 
short,  for  a  body  twice  his  own  weight  fell  head- 
long upon  top  of  him,  and  beneath  the  heavy 
carcase  of  Crab  Hatherley,  Dick  was  swept  back- 
wards and  crushed  to  the  ground  with  a  broken 
leg. 


CHAPTER    XVIII, 


LOVE    AND    ASHES. 


TWO  days  after  the  catastrophe  at  Comp- 
ton  Castle,  Sibella  came  to  see  her 
wounded  hero,  and  found  him  in  bed 
under  the  care  of  his  mother.  The  broken 
limb  was  prospering  well ;  but  Dick's  condition 
of  mind  proved  not  favourable  to  a  speedy 
cure,  and,  suspecting  that  there  was  no  real 
reason  for  his  downcast  state,  Mrs.  Gilbert 
asked  her  son's  sweetheart  to  visit  him.  This 
Sibella,  who  had  only  waited  the  mandate, 
gladly  consented  to  do,  and  we  find  her  now 
at  an  early  hour  beside  Dick's  bed  in  an  upper 
chamber  of  Orchard  Farm  facing  upon  the  west. 
Without,  the  apple-trees  were  nearly  naked,  for 
the  sure  south-west  wind  proper  to  that  season 
had  blown  fiercely  through  four-and-twenty  hours. 
But  it  was  now  resting  for  a  space,  and  had  ceased 
in  a  mild  and  mellow  dawn. 

Sibella  bent  over   Dick  and  kissed   him,  then 
278 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  279 

waited  for  him  to  speak.  This,  however,  he 
did  not  immediately  do.  For  a  long  while  he 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  window  ;  then  he  turned 
them   to   her  and   spoke  wearily  :  — 

"  I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for  your 
fright,  Sibelia   Baskerville  ?  " 

She  started,  but  paid  no  heed  to  the  new 
name. 

"  None  the  worse,  I  am  glad  to  say,  dear 
Richard.  But  that  is  thanks  to  you  ;  you  saved 
my  life." 

He  growled :  — 

"Nothing  of  the  sort;  I  saved  Crab  Hather- 
ley's.  The  brute  would  have  broken  his  neck 
if  I   had   not  been   there  for  him   to  fall  upon." 

"It  was  very  unfortunate — for  you,  dearest. 
The  poor  wretch  certainly  meant  to   kill   me." 

"And  yet  I  hear  you  decline  to  say  any- 
thing, or  explain  the  reason  that  made  him  so 
frantic." 

"  Only  his  avarice  and  greediness.  He  fan- 
cied that  I  was  going  to  turn  into  a  pixie 
made  of  gold  ;  and  he  found  that  he  was  mis- 
taken.     Now  tell   me  about  yourself,  dear  Dick. 


28o  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Have    you    been   tortured    terribly  ?       Can    you 
sleep  ?      Are  you  out  of  pain  ?  " 

"  My  leg's  nothing;  but  a  man  can't  have 
his  life  turned  upside  down  without  getting  a 
bit  sleepless.     'Twill  come  right." 

*'  Your  life  is  unchanged  surely,  Richard  ? 
What  has  happened,  beyond  this  accident,  that 
vou  sav  your  life  has  been  turned  upside 
down  ^  " 

"  You  ask  that .''  D'you  think  we're  all  deaf 
and  dumb  and  blind  here  ?  And  even  if  we 
were,  that  brute  of  a  Newte  is  eyes  and 
ears  and  tongue  for  a  hundred  people.  He 
came  to  me  red-hot  with  all  this  cursed  busi- 
ness about  you.  You're  Sir  Archer  Basker- 
ville's  granddaughter ;  and  yet  you  can  ask  me 
if  my  life  has  turned  upside  down  !  " 

"  Even  if  I  was,  Dick,  'tis  my  life  surely, 
not  yours,  that  is  changed.  You're  Richard 
Gilbert  still ;  and  you  told  me  you  loved  me 
within  this  week.  That  at  least  holds  true,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Love  can't  change.  I  would  alter  if  I 
could,  but  that's  impossible." 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  281 

"'Alter  if  you  could,'  Richard!  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  genuine  amazement, 
while  he,  sick  and  suffering,  made  short 
answer  :  — 

"  Don't  stare  so.  Don't  pretend  you  don't 
understand.  If  the  poison  hasn't  begun  to  work 
yet,  it  will.  You're  a  Baskerville,  aren't  you  ? 
How  could  a   Baskerville   marry  a  Gilbert?" 

"  I  don't  see  any  impossibility,  Richard. 
Because  Sir  Archer  wanted  to  marry  your 
mother,  and  your  mother  chose  rather  to  marry 
somebody  else,  is  that  any  reason  why  this  mad 
quarrel  should  be  kept  up  between  the  families.'*" 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it  exists.  They  began  it. 
The  blame  is  entirely   Sir  Archer's." 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"  And  tne  fact  cannot  be  changed  by  us  ;  so 
we  must  face  it.  You  must  try  and  forget  me, 
Sibella." 

"You  can  say  that  to  me  after  all  the  dear 
past  days  !  You  can  lie  there  and  say  that,  and 
your  cruel  voice  not  even  shake  !  " 

"  I'm    not   cruel,   God   knows.      A    man    looks 


282  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

all  round  a  question  ;  a  woman  so  often  only 
sees  the  heart  side  of  it.  Don't  call  me  '  cruel,' 
Sib,  Think  what  this  means  to  me.  Think 
what  my  life's  worth  with  you  taken  out  of 
it/' 

"I  won't  go  out  of  it  —  never  —  never  — 
unless  you   drive  me  out !  " 

"  You  must  go  out !  I  don't  mean  to  marry 
you,  and  I  wouldn't  —  not  if  you  went  down 
on  your  knees  and  prayed  me  to.  If  you  don't 
realise  a  little  of  what  it  costs  me  to  say  that 
terrible  thing  to  you,  Sibella,  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  only  know  that  it  has  taken  twenty  years  off 
mv   life   to  say  it." 

"  But  why  have  you  said  it  ^  Because  you 
will   not  marry  a  Baskerville  ?  " 

"  That  will  serve  for  a  reason  as  well  as 
another." 

"Your  love  is  a  very  poor  and  paltrv  thing, 
then,    Richard   Gilbert." 

"  Say  so  if  you  like,  and  think  so  if  you 
can." 

"  What  else  am    I   to   think  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  point  that  out.      I   desire 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  283 

to  make  your  road  easy,  and  spare  you  every 
pang  of  pain   in   my   power." 

"  Pain  doesn't  matter  now,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  hurt  me  worse  to-day  than  I  can  ever  be 
hurt  again.  'To  make  my  road  easy'!  I 
thought  my  road  was  yours  till  death  parted 
us.  You  think  to  make  my  road  easy  by  going 
off  it  and  leaving  me  to  walk  alone  ?  " 

"  Not  alone  :  with  a  grandfather." 

"  And   you   are   to  be  the  martyr,  and    I 

Let  me  go  !  " 

"  Listen  a  moment  before  you  leave  me. 
I'm  not  a  great  hand  at  blowing  my  own 
trumpet,  only  my  patience  doesn't  reach  as 
far  as  this.  One  would  think  I  was  a  double- 
dyed  rascal  who  wanted  to  give  you  up,  and 
had  taken  this  occasion  to  break  with  you, 
instead  of — of — well,  of  course  I  can't  explain 
to  you  what  my  life  will  be  lived  alone,  because 
it  will  be  alone  if  it  is  not  spent  with  you.  Be 
just,  at  least,  before  we  separate  for  ever. 
Consider  your  grandfather." 

"  That's  just  exactly  what  I  didn't  do,"  she 
said   hotly.       "  'Tis    a  great   pity   the  cases  were 


284  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

not  reversed,  1  think,  if  you  can  be  so  very 
thoughtful  for  him.  What's  the  love  worth 
a  {grandfather  can  kill  ?  I  believed  I  knew 
you,   Richard  —  how   little   I    knew!" 

"  You  needn't  say  bitter  things  to  me.  I 
suppose  a  grown  man  sees  further  into  a  mill- 
stone like   this  than   a  girl   can." 

"  Perhaps,  and  sticks  his  stupid  eyes  in  it, 
instead  of  looking  clean  through  out  on  to  the 
other  side.  You're  so  instructive  to-day,  that 
I'll  ask  for  a  little  more  information.  What 
would  you   have  done.''" 

"  A  man's  different.  I  should  have  told  the 
old  gentleman  that  I  was  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  that  mountains  wouldn't  change  me. 
Then,  if  he   had  kicked " 

"  Yes,  then  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  burned  the  damned  papers  and 
kept  my   liberty  at  any  cost." 

"Ah,  of  course  only  a  man  could  do  such 
a  big,  heroic  thing.  A  poor,  weak  girl  would 
sink  into  her  grandfather's  arms,  and  say,  be- 
tween her  sobs,  that  her  lover  might  go  and 
drown   himself — wouldn't  she.''" 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  285 

"  No  occasion  to  mention  the  lover.  Let 
him   drop  out  of  the  matter." 

"  And  you  think   I  did  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't ;  else  you  wouldn't  be  here 
now." 

"  Look  here,  Richard ;  d'you  see  those 
marks  ?  " 

She  showed  him  a  big  wheal  that  crossed  her 
palm   and   two  fingers. 

"Yes,  you've  burned  yourself;  I'm  very 
sorry." 

"  The  finger  a  wedding  ring  might  have  gone 
upon  some  day  suffered  most.  And  would 
you  be  sorry  to  hear,  too,  that  I  had  burned 
myself  altogether  —  to  a  heap  of  dust  and 
cinders  ?  Would  you  be  glad  or  grieved  to 
know  that  there  wasn't  so  much  as  a  letter  of 
my  name  left  to  swear  by  ?  But  of  course  '  a 
man's  different.'  Only  a  bold  hero  like  Rich- 
ard  Gilbert  could  make  a  bonfire  of  himself" 

"  Sibella  !  " 

"  Not  Sibella  to  you  !  I'm  Miss  Baskerville 
now  ;  and  the  poison  has  begun  to  work  ;  and  I 
wouldn't  marry  you,  Mr.  Richard  Gilbert,  if  you 


286  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

went  down  on  both  knees  —  which,  of  course, 
you   can't  do   till   they've   mended   you." 

"Sib!      You   burnt  the  papers!" 

"  They  were  mine  to  do  what  I  pleased  with. 
Hut  it's  all  one  now.  I  couldn't  help  the  truth 
happening  because  nobody  consulted  me  before 
I  was  born  ;  but  I  can  help  the  result  of  it,  and 
I  have.  Sir  Archer  put  it  plainly  —  to  choose 
between  you  or  him.  I  couldn't  have  both ; 
now  —  now  I'll  have  neither.  No,  I  won't  — 
don't  stretch  out  your  arms  to  me.  A  Basker- 
ville  I  can  never  be  proved,  and  a  Gilbert  I  will 
never  be  made  —  never  —  never  —  never." 

Yet  within  two  minutes  of  that  tremendous 
declaration  Sibella  was  shedding  tears,  and  Rich- 
ard kissing  them  out  of  her  eves  as  fast  as  might 
be.  He  explained  with  great  circumstance  how 
that  he  had  determined  to  give  her  up  for  her 
own  dear  sake,  and  elaborated  his  sufferings 
between  outbursts  of  enthusiasm  at  her  courage 
and  heroism.  An  hour  of  rosy  mutual  adoration 
passed  in  one  mere  flutter  of  Love's  wing ;  then 
in  upon  them  came  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  she  said 
no    word,  but  just   looked    into    her   son's  eyes. 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  287 

"Yes,  mother;  I  know;  you  are  right,  as  you 
always    are    right.       Sibella's    been    the    greatest 

heroine  out  of  history,  and  she  is  going  to  marry 

>> 
me. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  the  girl  ;  "  for 
I'm  a  mere  nameless  thing  now.  Most  uncom- 
fortable it  is.  I'm  not  a  Hatherley,  and  nobody 
can  say  I'm  a  Baskerville,  for  the  papers  that 
proved  it  are  no  more  and  they  cannot  be  re- 
newed." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  heard  the  story  with  all  particu- 
lars of  Sibella's  visit  to  Sir  Archer  and  the  girl's 
decision.  Whereupon  she  kissed  her  and  spoke 
briefly  :  — 

"  I  knew  that  this  would  end  right,  my  dear, 
though  I  hoped  that  it  would  end  right  differ- 
ently. Perhaps  that  was  not  possible.  'Tis  a 
grave  thing  you've  done  —  nothing  for  a  loving 
woman  —  but  grave  looked  at  from  other  points." 

At  this  moment  yet  another  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  and  Mr.  Newte  thrust  in  his  round 
and  florid  face.  His  eyes  twinkled,  and  he 
beamed   from   habit. 

"The  serving-maid  denied  me,"  he  said,  "but 


288  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

I  swept  her  from  my  path  in  the  name  of  Right- 
eousness. Where  the  sufferer  tosses  on  his 
uneasy  couch,  there  shall  be  found  Alpheus 
Newte." 

"  I  don't  want  you,"  said  Richard,  abruptly. 
"  I'm  sick  of  you.  Your  voice  is  sticky,  like 
oil,  and  you  always  mean  some  sort  of  trouble 
for  me  whenever  we   meet." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  no  service  to  you,  Richard, 
then  you  can  be  of  service  to  me.  And  you. 
Miss  Baskerville.  I  have  been  seeking  you  for 
eight-and-forty  hours.  I  have  already  thanked 
Heaven  for  your  miraculous  escape.  You  will 
understand  that  I  am  deeply  interested  in  your 
welfare  —  a  welfare  of  which,  under  Providence, 
I  may  be  considered  the  direct  instrument.  If 
it  is  not  asking  too  much,  I  should  greatly  like 
to  know  how  we  all  stand.  Your  interview  with 
your  grandfather  is  sacred.  I  would  not  dare  to 
pry  into  such  a  matter.  But  the  result  naturally 
demands  to  be  made  public.  By  the  way,  I 
rejoice  with  exceeding  great  joy  to  find  you  here, 
for  that  would  seem  to  show  that  Sir  Archer  is, 
after  all,  not  impervious  to  the  dictates  of  human- 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  289 

ity.  To  sanction  such  an  end  to  your  fairy  story 
was  worthy  of  a  great  man.  But  I  never  thought 
he  would  have  risen  to  it." 

"  He  didn't,  Mr.  Newte.  I  am  sorry  for 
your  sake,  because  no  doubt  you  had  something 
to  gain,  and  you  meant  well.  But  mv  grand- 
father and  I  could  not  agree,  so  I  took  a  short, 
simple  course.  I  really  think  he  was  very  sorry 
that  I  did,  and  I  was  very,  very  sorry  to  make 
an  old,  lonely  man  sad.  Still  it  had  to  be.  I 
burnt  the  papers  and  freed  Sir  Archer  of  myself 
and  all  the  responsibilities  I  represented." 

"  Burnt  the  documents  !  " 

"  Every  one  of  them.  They  were  mine,  re- 
member." 

"  True,  they  were  yours.  Now  I  perfectly 
understand  why  the  man  Crab  Hatherley  had 
a  fit  and  tried  to  do  you  harm.  I  visited  him 
yesterday.  He  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of 
delirium  tremens  consequent  on  his  downfall. 
He  mistook  me  for — no  matter.  But  he  did 
not  tell  me  this.  Indeed,  he  did  no  more  than 
babble.  I  left  him  dangerously  ill.  One 
might    almost    marvel    without    irreverence    that 


290  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

he  is  permitted  to  linger  amongst  us.  A  bad 
man  —  methodically,  systematically,  hopelessly 
bad.      However,  there  is   One  that  judgeth." 

But  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  later  news  of  Joshua 
Hatherley   than   that  possessed   by   the  pastor. 

"He's  better  to-day,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Bridle  has  seen  him  ;  he  keeps  asking  for  a 
policeman." 

"  He  would  have  been  wiser  to  send  for  me 
surely  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  'Twas  concerning  you  that 
he  wanted  a  constable." 

"  Poor  distraught  soul  !  " 

Mrs.   Gilbert  reflected  a  moment,  then   spoke. 

"Maybe  you  ought  to  know;  maybe  you 
ought  not.  Yet  I'll  give  you  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt  and  tell  you,  Mr.  Newte.  To  be 
plain,  Hatherley  has  got  a  great  story  against 
you.  It  goes  back  to  the  sale  of  his  sister's 
things  at  Compton  Castle  after  her  death. 
You  mind  that  old  piece  of  furniture  ?  " 

"Let  me  see  —  the  Sheraton  cabinet?  Yes, 
yes,  of  course.  My  difference  with  Sir  Archer. 
I   remember  it  only  too  well." 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  291 

"  Hatherley  says  there  was  a  thousand  pounds 
hid  in  that  cabinet,  and  you  knew  it  and  foxed 
most  of  the  money  away  from  him  by  a  trick. 
He  says  he  can  prove  that  vou  paid  him  out 
of  that  monev,  and  that  he  has  still  got  over 
two  hundred  at  the  castle,  and  that  you  have 
the  rest  hidden." 

"  The  demon  of  drink  ! "  said  Mr.  Newte. 
"  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  the  oldest  and  young- 
est of  us.  What  appalling  depths  liquor  will 
lead  a  man   into  !  " 

"  If  that  money  existed,  it  was  yours,  Sibella  !  " 
cried  Richard ;  but  Mr.  Newte  took  no  notice 
and  pursued  his  own  reflections. 

"  To  think  that  perhaps  a  man's  last  act  on 
earth  should  be  to  hatch  a  lie  against  his  best 
friend  !  However,  leave  this  to  me.  Say  noth- 
ing. I  should  be  sad  to  find  such  a  wicked 
scandal  creeping  amongst  those  who  are  learn- 
ing to  love  me  here." 

"  I'll  say  nothing.  Right  will  prevail,"  an- 
swered  Mrs.   Gilbert. 

"  Be  sure  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy  — 
always,"     continued     Alpheus.       "  I      ought     to 


292  IHE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

know,  for  in  the  far  past  1  was  myself  unre- 
generate.  In  fact  I  have  tried  every  sort  of 
poHcy,  in  the  course  of  a  career  that  might  be 
verv  interesting,  if  it  was  written  down  without 
prejudice.  Now  I  must  go  —  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. I  confess  I  am  disappointed.  You 
will  see  it  on   my   fice." 

"  I'm  sorry  if  by  burning  the  papers  I  have 
robbed  you  or  Mr.  Hatherley,"  said  Sibella ; 
"and  I'm  sure  I  never  will  believe  that  you 
have  robbed  me." 

"  Yet  the  heavens  are  sustained,"  replied  Mr. 
Newte,  rather  vaguely,  "  and  the  righteous  man  is 
not  called  upon  to  beg  for  a  living.  Farewell  ! 
There  are  several  things  that  must  be  done  before 
I  break  bread.      Happily  the  day  is  still  young." 

He  disappeared,  and  Richard  took  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert to  task. 

"  Mother,  why  did  you  tell  him  ?  Such  a 
look  came  into  his  face  —  like  a  hundred  weasels 
rolled  into  one.  Perhaps  it  is  true.  Perhaps 
there  was  money  there  —  Sib's  own;  for  poor 
old  Granny  Hatherley  often  said  that  Sibella  was 
to  have  all  she  had   to  give  ;  and   vou   remember 


LOVE    AND    ASHES.  293 

that  with  her  last  breath  she  bid  Sibella  go  to 
Newte.  Yes  !  He's  a  robber ;  I  feel  it  in  my 
bones." 

"  Then  he  will  pay  the  price,  my  dear  ;  be  sure 
of  that.  But  I  didn't  like  to  think  there  were 
plots  hatching  against  him,  and  him  ignorant  of 
them." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Sib  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  he  took  the  news.  He's 
got  plenty  of  pluck.  Another  man  would  have 
been  savage  with  me,  like  Mr.  Hatherley  was; 
for  this  probably  means  a  big  reward  lost  to  Mr. 
Newte.  Yet  he  hardly  winced.  He  even  smiled 
—  a  sort  of  fat,  horrid,  inward  smile." 

"  He'll  make  a  bolt  now,  see  if  he  doesn't,  and 
take  your  money  with  him,"  foretold  Richard. 

"  For  us  the  matter's  over,"  declared  his  sweet- 
heart, "  and  thankful  am  I  that  it  is  so.  All 
you've  got  to  do,  at  any  rate,  Dick,  is  to  get  well 
again  and  marry  me.  That's  quite  simple  and 
straightforward,  without  any  double-dealing  about 
it,  I'm  sure." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.     NEWTE. 

ALFHEUS  NEWTE  considered  that  he 
was  now  faced  with  the  master  problem 
of  his  life  ;  but  he  approached  it  fear- 
lessly, for  he  held  a  strong  lead  in  the  game 
and  a  promising  card,  presently  to  be  played. 
The  future,  indeed,  did  not  rest  upon  him  so 
much  as  another.  With  Sir  Archer  Baskerville 
it  remained  to  decide  whether  the  pastor  should 
go  upon  his  way  rejoicing  or  the  reverse.  Crab 
Hatherley's  affair  obviously  called  for  immediate 
attention,  because  at  that  moment,  reposing 
within  Mr.  Newte's  little  desk  at  home,  were 
Bank  of  England  notes  to  the  value  of  more  than 
seven  hundred  pounds.  The  thought  that  these 
might  be  brought  to  light  upon  a  search-warrant 
was  painful  enough  ;  yet,  even  amidst  his  anxi- 
eties, Mr.  Newte  found  leisure  to  be  very  grate- 
ful  to    Mrs.    Gilbert.      Though    now   upon    the 

294 


THE    WISDOM    OF    AIR.    NEWTE.      295 

brink  of  a  grand  and  conclusive  move,  Alpheus 
nevertheless  determined  with  himself  to  advance 
Mary  Gilbert's  prosperity  if  a  chance  should  offer 
within   the   hour. 

First  proceeding  to  his  cottage,  he  spent  ten 
minutes  to  advantage  among  private  papers  ;  then, 
telling  Mrs.  Truscott,  his  landlady,  that  an  urgent 
affair  called  him  from  home,  and  that  he  might 
be  absent  on  a  matter  of  well-doing  until  the 
following  day,  he  set  forth  upon  his  business. 
But  it  was  to  Higher  Marldon,  not  the  abode  of 
the  shattered  Joshua  Hatherley  at  Compton 
Castle,  that  Mr.  Newte  first  repaired.  By  noon 
he  had  reached  his  destination,  and  five  minutes 
later,  fortune  favouring  him,  he  was  admitted  to 
the  presence  of  the  lord  of  the  manor. 

Despite  the  fact  that  his  mind  was  now  pretty 
sharply  set  upon  his  own  affairs,  Alpheus  did 
not  fail  to  note  an  obvious  change  in  the  man 
before  him.  Sir  Archer  looked  haggard  and 
careworn  ;  a  lack  of  force  marked  his  aspect, 
and  life  now  appeared  no  more  than  a  weariness 
to  him, 

"What    do    you    want?"    he    asked,   without 


296  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

moving  from  the  fire  by  which  he  sat,  or  turning 
his  eyes  from  the  burning  coals  whereon  they 
were  fixed. 

*'  But  a  few  of  your  valuable  moments,  Sir 
Archer.  You  will  understand  that  I  am  deeply- 
interested  in  recent  events,  especially  as  I  was 
privileged  to  aid  in  bringing  them  about.  May 
I  ask,  without  impertinence,  whether  the  young 
ladv  approached  the  standard  that  a  maiden  of 
your  great   name  should   reach  ^  " 

At  another  time  such  a  question  would  have 
been  answered  by  an  instant  explosion  ;  but  there 
was  not  any  fight  in  the  house  of  Baskerville 
just  now,  and  Mr.   Newte  divined  it. 

"  I  have  little  doubt  that  she  was  my  son's 
child,"  the  old  man  answered,  listlessly.  "  Her 
actions  were  such  as  one  might  have  predicted 
from  a  daughter  of  Roger  Baskerville.  I  only 
regret  that  I  did  not  foresee  them  and  take  steps 
to   prevent  them." 

"She  burned  the  documents,  I  understand?" 

"She  did,  when  my  back  was  turned  —  way- 
ward, wicked  girl  !  " 

"  What  misguided  spirit.  Sir  Archer." 


THE    WISDOM    OF    AIR.    NEVVrE.      297 

"  It  proved,  if  that  wanted  further  proof,  that 
she  was  what  the  documents  declared." 

"  How  mad  these  young  things  are  !  And  the 
papers  destroyed !  Still,  you  know  the  truth. 
Is  not  that  enough  ^  " 

"It  might  be  for  me,  but  not  for  the  legal 
heirs  of  my  property.  You  won't  get  my 
nephews  to  believe  this  storv  on  mv  assurance. 
It's  moonshine  in   law." 

"  The  heirs  are  not  likelv  to  give  wav  ?  I 
suppose  not.  The  human  mind  is  constitution- 
ally incapable  of  being  convinced  against  its  own 
interests.  To  think  any  girl  could  commit  such 
folly  !  This  shows  what  it  is  to  be  uneducated, 
Sir  Archer;  and  I  daresay  if  she  had  but  endured 
to  listen,  that  a  little  quiet  conversation,  a  little 
logic  and  reason  from  you,  would  have  found  a 
way  to  smooth  every   difficulty." 

"  I  am  all  logic  and  reason,"  said  the  knight. 
"My  worst  enemies  concede  as  much.  She, 
however,  would  listen  to  neither.  The  first  point 
that  rose  she  was  instantly  beside  herself.  A 
true  Baskerville  —  near  as  beautiful  as  her  grand- 
mother, had  she  been  adequately  dressed.     And 


298  11  IK    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

a  mind  that  onlv  requires  proper  instruction  to 
be  quite  as  large  as  need  be  wished  for  a  woman. 
It  is  a  very  great  blow  to  me.  It  has  aged  me 
terribly.  She  might  have  made  a  fair  and  soft 
autumn  and  winter  for  my  grey  hairs.  I  loved 
her  at  sight ;  but  she  is  cruel.  It  is  a  Baskerville 
trait." 

"  From  which,  however,  you  have  entirely 
escaped,  Sir  Archer.  May  I  ask  what  fatal  thing 
could  have  come  between  you  so  terribly  at  this 
first  meeting?     They   hinted  at  love." 

"  It's  no  business  of  yours  that  I  can  see. 
Still,  you  were  the  instrument,  and  have  perhaps 
a  sort  of  right  to  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  behaved  like  a  headstrong  little  fool,  and 
took  my  word  too  literally.  My  speech  is  always 
forcible,  even  hyperbolic.  Sometimes  I  may 
mean  more  than  I  say  ;  yet  no  man  can  ever 
accuse  me  of  injustice,  or  declare  that  I  do  not 
always  give  a  patient  ear  to  reason.  1  am  the 
soul  of  justice." 

"  Very  true,  indeed.  Reason,  however,  is  the 
last  thing  we  expect  trom  a  young  woman 
attached    to   a   young   man.      There   seems   very 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      299 

little  doubt  that  Miss  Sibella's  affection  is  deeply 
rooted." 

Sir  Archer  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  then 
he  replied  with   some  irritation  :  — 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  me  how  Baslcer- 
villes  love.  I  should  know  that  if  any  man 
does.  The  unreasonableness  lay  with  her  in 
deciding  idiotically  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 
These  things  want  to  be  talked  about  and  looked 
at  from  every  side.  My  soul  warmed  to  her, 
sir;  I'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  I  felt  a 
great  pulse  and  throb  of  rejoicing  in  my  old 
heart  at  sight  of  that  young  girl.  Her  voice 
was  most  musical,  her  deportment  distinguished. 
But  fire  and  fury  !  how  is  one  to  come  to  any  sort 
of  understanding  with  such  a  tempestuous  spirit? 
Still — still  —  most  musical  her  voice  even  in 
anger.     A  fine  carriage  —  how  she  swept  out!" 

"  She  burned   her  hand  badly." 

"  Not  as  badly  as  she  burned  my  heart.  To 
think  that  an  old  man's  last  days  of  gladness 
should  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  third  generation  ! 
However,  it  is  all  over  now ;  she  has  chosen. 
I   shall   sec   her  no  more." 


300  THK    CiOOl)    RKU    EARTH. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  have  an  honest  reason  for 
asking,  Sir  Archer.  Was  it  really  a  matter  of 
Hnal  choice,  or  did  she  imagine  that  it  was, 
because  she  found  herselt  too  hot  to  listen  to 
your  words  ?  1  am  given  to  understand  that 
you  placed  before  her  a  bare  alternative  between 
her  grandfather  on  one  side  and  a  lover  from 
the  race  of  Gilbert  on  the  other.  Now,  on 
hearing  this,  my  first  thought  was  that  the  young 
lady  had  wilfully  or  accidentally  misunderstood 
the  truth.  I  said,  '  Surely  Sir  Archer,  who  is  the 
soul  of  chivalry  and  knightly  courtesy,  whose 
heart  is  still  young,  who  smiles  upon  our  little 
ones  and  pats  their  little  heads  as  he  passes,  and 
whose  presence  brightens  every  eye  —  surely  he 
is  not  the  man  to  crush  out  a  young  romance, 
a  youthful  first  love,  without  good  reason .? '  I 
said,  '  it  is  far  more  likely  that  such  a  wise  gen- 
tleman, with  the  experience  of  years  behind  him, 
should  rather  suggest  a  protracted  and  proper 
ordeal  of  the  affections.  The  value  of  this  maid- 
en's love  for  another  man  may  be  best  judged 
by  the  nature  of  her  love  and  regard  for  her 
own  noble  grandfather.      I   should  rather  think,' 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      301 

I  said  to  those  interested  in  this  matter,  'that  Sir 
Archer,  had  Miss  Sibella  only  been  wise  enough 
to  listen  to  his  wisdom,  would  have  proposed 
some  reasonable  trial  of  patience,  extending  over 
a  considerable  period.  Take  mv  word  tor  it, 
Mrs.  Gilbert,'  I  said,  '  you  deal  with  one  whose 
mind  ranges  infinitely  higher  than  mere  matters 
of  temporary  expedience  and  feasibility.  Sir 
Archer  always  looks  ahead.  He  is  the  most 
far-seeing  man  you  shall  meet  with  in  Devon- 
shire. His  decision  would  probably  be  that 
Sibella  receives  at  least  five  years  ot  a  higher 
education  under  his  own  eyes.  She  must  go 
abroad  and  see  the  world,  and  learn  what  it  be- 
comes her  to  know.  She  must  expand,  like  the 
beautiful  butterfly,  from  this  chrysalis  of  print 
frocks  and  sunbonnets.  She  must  prepare  for 
her  place  in  a  lordly  garden  of  pleasure.  Five 
years  hence,'  I  continued,  '  Miss  Sibella  Basker- 
villc  will  have  reached  the  age  of  four-and-twenty 
—  young  enough,  in  all  conscience,  for  her  to 
make  up  her  mind  upon  such  a  question  as 
marriage.  And,  meantime,  the  youtli  Kicharti 
Gilbert's    kinship    with    that    ancient,    illustrious 


302  rilK    CJOOD    RED    EARTH. 

family  of  Gilbert  is  quite  capable  of  proof  by 
the  Heralds'  College  —  for  it  is  merely  a  ques- 
tion of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  But,  as 
Paul  says  to  Titus,  "  Let  us  avoid  foolish  ques- 
tions and  genealogies  ...  for  they  are  unprofit- 
able and  vain."  The  youth  Richard  Gilbert,'  I 
said,  'should  instantly  set  about  improving  his 
mind,  strengthening  his  faculties,  enlarging  his 
horizon,  and  fitting  himself  for  a  more  impor- 
tant position  in  life  than  that  which  his  natural 
modesty  had  tempted  him  to  rest  content  with.' 
These  things  I  said  to  them,  Sir  Archer  ;  it  was 
thus  that  I  endeavoured  to  hint  to  their  under- 
standings  the   nature  of  the   man   you   were." 

"  Certainly  you  came  not  far  short  of  my  sen- 
timents. I  will  give  you  that  credit.  And,  if  I 
may  ask,  what  did  these  people  say  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gilbert  echoed  my  words.  She,  at 
least,  has  the  wisdom  of  years.  She  is  a  stately 
and  a  noble  woman.  She  has  also  been  privi- 
leged to  witness  your  life  and  take  example  by  it, 
like  the  rest  of  her  generation  in  the  Marldons. 
As  for  the  young  people,  needless  to  say  they 
doubted  me." 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      303 

Silence  followed  Mr.  Newte's  report  of  this 
purely  imaginary  conversation  ;  then  the  other 
spoke : — 

"  You  are  not  lacking  in  sense.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  ivas  going  to  say  to  my  granddaughter 
almost  exactly  what  you  predicted  to  her.  I 
have  a  heart.  I  loved  the  girl  from  the  moment 
I  set  eyes  on  her." 

"  Nobody  needs  to  be  told  that  you  have  a 
heart,  Sir  Archer.  I  am  proud  to  think  that  I 
saw  a  little  of  your  goodness  at  a  glance,  and  was 
able  to  foretell  it.  Five  years  —  what  are  they? 
barely  time  to  let  these  young  things  grow  from 
children  into  adults.  And  higher  education 
opens  a  girl's  eyes  in  a  way  that  nothing  else 
can." 

"  True  ;  but  I  have  a  heart,  I  tell  you.  I  do 
not  think  that  I  would  have  denied  her  in  the 
long  run.  Life  has  taught  me  what  it  is  to  be 
denied    myself       You     make     me    see    at    least 

that .      But  the    matter  is  done  with.      We 

waste  words  as  to  what  might  have  been.  She 
has  decided   against  me." 

"  I    have    reason    to    believe    the    young    ladv 


304  THK    (iOOD    RED    EARTH. 

bitterly  regrets  her  action.  And  now  concerning 
my  part,  Sir  Archer  ?  I  suppose  that  you  do  not 
consider  nie  entitled  to  any  reward  under  these 
sad  circumstances  ?  " 

Sir  Archer  started  at  this  blunt  question. 

"  The  idea  had  not  occurred  to  me,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Nor  to  me.  My  hope  was  burned  to  ashes 
with  the  documents;   I  only  mention  it." 

"  You  did  your  best.      If  fifty  pounds " 

"  Sir  Archer,"  began  Mr.  Newte,  rising  to  his 
feet,  and  thus  theatrically  adding  to  the  value  of 
the  statement  he  was  about  to  make.  "  Sir 
Archer  Baskerville,  wisdom  is  the  great  and  only 
real  magician  in  this  world  ;  and  of  wisdom,  I 
may  say  without  overstepping  the  bounds  of 
modesty,  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  give  me 
my  share." 

"  Nevertheless  vour  wisdom  is  vain,  and  your 
boasting  is  vain,  unless  vou  can  renew  ashes." 

"  My  dear  sir,  supposing  that  we  go  back 
further  than  the  ashes  ;  supposing  that  the  ashes 
were  valueless  all  along,  that  the  pearl  of  price 
still   exists  ?      Recollect  that    I    came   to   vou   un- 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      305 

armed,  defenceless,  even  as  a  lamb  into  a  lion's 
den.  Accident  placed  this  great  discovery  in  my 
keeping.  As  a  man  of  the  world,  and  one  who 
wanted  to  leave  the  world  better  than  he  found  it, 
I  could  not  be  blind  to  the  value  of  those  docu- 
ments. I  perceived  that  they  might  represent  to 
me  a  sum  large  enough  to  do  some  practical  and 
far-reaching  good  to  the  community.  So,  what 
did  I  do  ?  You  will  remember  remarking  on 
the  singular  freshness  of  the  most  important  de- 
spatches ?  That  was  not  curious.  They  were 
written  on  my  sermon  paper.  I  usually  preach 
extempore,  but  not  on  the  very  greatest  occa- 
sions. I  had,  in  fact,  copied  the  legal  documents 
the  night  before  —  yes,  even  to  the  wax  seals  and 
the  signatures.  My  initials  as  copyist  were  upon 
them  all,  though  minutely  written,  I  confess.  I 
did  not  feel  justified  in  presenting  you  with  the 
real  things  until  you  had  exchanged  for  them 
an  equivalent  that  would  enable  me  to  extend  my 
sphere  of  well-doing.  Though  certain  original 
papers  written  by  your  late  son  have  perished, 
the  vitals  of  this  matter  were  not  burned.  In 
fact,  here  they  are.      Lock  them   up,  Sir  Archer; 


3o6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

lock  them  up  carefully,  before  you  see  your  dear 
granddaughter  again  !  " 

Mr.  Newte  produced  a  packet  of  papers, 
waved  them  over  his  head,  and  then  gave  them 
without  reserve  into  the  thin  hand  stretched 
towards   him. 

"  Thus  does  heaven  watch  over  us,  and  look 
to  it  that  the  will  of  Providence  shall  not  be 
frustrated  by  a  hasty  action,"  said  the  pastor. 

The  old  man's  eyes  devoured  certain  ancient 
manuscripts.  There  was  no  doubting  these. 
They  bore  the  marks  of  truth  and  time. 

"Thank  the  Lord  —  thank  the  Lord!"  he 
murmured. 

"  I  hope  you  will,  Sir  Archer,"  answered 
Alpheus   Newte.     Then   he  rose  to  depart. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  declared.  "  Yet,  in 
the  interests  of  the  community,  I  cannot  leave 
you  empty-handed.  You  would  not  wish  me 
to  do  so.  By  withholding  these  papers  until 
the  present  I  have  mercifully  prevented  a  great 
wrong;  and  I  have,  I  think,  done  you  a  prac- 
tical  service." 

*'  You  have,"  answered  the  other. 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      307 

Then  he  rose,  placed  the  papers  far  from  the 
fire,  looked  about  him  nervously,  as  though 
Sibella  might  still  be  at  hand,  and  went  to  his 
desk. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  five  thousand 
pounds,"   he  said. 

"  A  thank-offering  quite  worthy  of  you,  Sir 
Archer.  The  spending  of  that  majestic  sum 
you  mav  safely  leave  to  me.  Not  a  penny 
shall  be  misplaced.  Five  thousand  pounds  ! 
I  had  almost  said  '  five  thousand  souls '  !  Will 
you  also  give  me  a  note  to  your  bankers  ? 
They  might  hesitate  at  cashing  such  a  remark- 
able cheque  without  special  authorisation." 

Sir  Archer  obeyed;  then  Mr.  Newte  per- 
ceived that  the  knight  desired  to  be  alone, 
and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Shake  hands,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  never 
thought  that  you  or  any  fellow-creature  would 
have  the  power  to  do  me  such  a  mightv  service. 
And  it  is  the  greater  that   I   thought  all   lost." 

"  The  lion  and  the   mouse.  Sir  Archer." 

"  One  word  more.  You  possess  a  knowledge 
of    human     nature    rather    rare    in    those    whose 


3o8  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

dutv  it  is  to  instruct  humanity  concerning  the 
laws  of  God.  You  are,  in  fact,  a  sociologist. 
Tell  me,  that  I  may  compare  your  opinion  with 
the  reality,  what  will  be  my  next  step  in  your 
judgment  ?  " 

Mr.  Newte  showed  not  so  much  as  the 
wink  of  an  eyelash,  though  his  soul  laughed 
within   him. 

"  It  would  take  a  man  of  deeper  understand- 
ing and  more  subtle  mind  than  myself.  Sir 
Archer,  to  prophesy  the  conduct  of  such  as 
you  in  this  crisis  ;  but,  having  regard  for  proba- 
bility, and  judging  from  your  character  as  it  is 
set  out  in  your  daily  life,  and  reflected  in  the 
simple  trust  and  regard  of  all  those  who  look 
to  you  as  their  master  and  controller  under 
Providence,  I  should  say  that  you  might  very 
possibly  seize  this  occasion  to  do  a  great  action. 
I  can  easily  picture  you  rising  above  both 
ancient  prejudices  and  ancient  wrongs  ;  I  can 
see  you  setting  an  example  to  all  men  by  a 
noble  and  exalted  attitude  before  this  event. 
The  exact  course  you  may  be  pleased  to  take 
is   not   for   an    inferior    mind    to    predict.       You 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.      309 

might,  for  instance,  transmit  an  ultimatum  in 
shape  of  a  letter;  you  might  desire  the  presence 
of  your  granddaughter  and  convey  your  inten- 
tions to  her  ;  you  might  seek  out  this  lady, 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  in  person  —  ves,  you  trown  upon 
me,  Sir  Archer,  but  positively  your  nobility  of 
character  might  soar  to  that  honourable  and 
harmonious  deed  —  though  I  see  you  doubt  it 
yourself.  It  is  not  for  me  to  preach  to  one 
from  whom  I  have  learned  so  much  ;  but  vou 
invited  my  opinion  as  to  possibilities,  and  I 
speak  fearlessly  because  I  am  in  the  presence 
of  a  gentleman.  Would  that  there  were  more 
such  men  amongst  us  !  You  will  do  what  vour 
own  high  judgment  prompts.  Sir  Archer;  and 
of  this  I  am  as  sure  as  that  I  shall  always 
remain  your  debtor  —  your  judgment  will  not 
err.  An  ancient  and  futile  feud  rests  with  you 
to  extinguish.  My  faith  in  you  is  such  that 
already  I  see  your  high  determination  in  your 
eyes !  Good-morning,  Sir  Archer ;  the  Lord 
bless  you  and  keep  you,  and  all  good  men  !  " 
Mr.  Newte,  upon  this  speech,  departed  with- 
out   giving    his    hearer    time    to     make    answer. 


310  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

He  t'clt  that  it  would  best  chime  with  the  old 
knight's  incHnations  at  that  juncture  not  to 
reply.  Alpheus  had  spoken  out  of  sheer  good- 
will. His  worst  enemy  could  have  found  no 
sinister  or  selfish  object  in  this  final  utterance. 
He  had  used  his  best  wits,  first  on  behalf  of 
himself,  then  for  Mary  Gilbert,  and  for  this 
old  man  in  the  third  place.  The  adventurer 
had  received  measure  far  beyond  his  expecta- 
tions ;  and,  as  often  happens  when  success  over- 
takes a  rascal  of  this  pattern,  enthusiasm  for 
humanity  at  large  awakes  within  him,  and  he 
will  do  any  soul  a  service  with  a  ready  heart 
and  perfect  faith,  warmed  to  kindness  by  natural 
good-humour  and  the  sun   of  prosperity. 

Before  three  o'clock  on  this  eventful  day  Mr. 
Newte  found  himself  at  Exeter ;  whereupon, 
driving  to  a  banking  establishment  of  old  fame, 
he  presented  his  credentials,  cashed  his  cheque, 
and  elected  to  take  his  money  in  notes  of  small 
value,  as  being  most  convenient  for  general 
purposes. 

He  slept  in  London,  and  when,  during  the 
following  day,  a  constable  sought  him  at  Lower 


THE    WISDOM    OF    MR.    NEWTE.     311 

Marldon,  that  he  might  be  haled  before  Sir  Archer 
Baskerville  upon  Crab  Hatherley's  charges,  Al- 
pheus  Newte  had  clean  vanished  from  his  old 
haunts  for  ever,  and  was  no  more  to  be  dis- 
covered than  the  plump  apples  of  a  bygone 
autumn. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

ANOTHER    TREE    PLANTED. 

MRS.  GILBKRT  and  her  son  were  wait- 
ing for  Sibella's  return  from  the  Court. 
There  had  come  for  the  girl  a  letter 
carried  by  a  footman  in  the  Baskerville  livery  — 
a  communication  set  forth  in  the  somewhat  shaky 
yet  distinguished  caligraphy  of  Sir  Archer  him- 
self He  gave  no  particulars  of  his  recent  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Newte ;  indeed,  he  told  Sibella 
nothing  save  that  he  desired  to  see  her  once 
more  ;  and  the  maiden,  feeling  it  not  possible  to 
refuse  a  courteous  request,  stood  again  in  the 
company  of  her  grandfather.  Her  very  presence 
lightened  the  old  man's  heart,  while  he  found  the 
picture  that  she  had  left  within  his  mind,  albeit 
vivid  enough,  pale  to  a  shadow  before  the  bright 
reality.  His  ear  was  quick  to  estimate  the  extent 
of  her  education,  and  the  hold  of  the  Devon 
accent   upon    her   tongue.       In    both    matters   he 

312 


ANOTHER    TREE    PLANTED.  313 

found  that  facts  were  more  hopeful  than  his 
anticipation. 

From  the  first  he  adopted  a  changed  tone  with 
Sibella,  for  with  the  indubitable  proofs  of  her 
parentage  in  his  care,  he  could  take  a  stronger 
hand.  Yet  a  great  new-born  love  for  her  chiefly 
marked  each  utterance. 

The  whole  gist  of  the  matter  best  appears  at 
Sibella's  subsequent  meeting  with  her  sweetheart. 
To  him  she  came  in  a  mighty  flutter  and  told  her 
story  forcibly  enough.  Happily  Mary  Gilbert 
was  also  present  at  the  telling,  otherwise  the 
unaided  indignation  of  these  lovers  had  per- 
chance again  come  to  a  wrong  decision  at  this 
critical  stage  of  their  fortunes. 

"  First,"  said  Sibella,  "  first  and  worst  of  all, 
that  wretched  Mr.  Newte's  disappearance  is  ex- 
plained. Who  was  it  said  that  he  had  been 
called  to  a  higher  sphere  ?  The  truth  is  that 
he  went  to  Sir  Archer  before  Joshua  Hatherley's 
confession  about  my  thousand  pounds  was  made 
public,  and  got  my  grandfather  to  give  him  more 
money.  How  much  I  do  not  know,  but  proba- 
bly a  good  deal,  for  my  grandfather  —  vcs,  Dick, 


314  Till"^    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

he's  got  to  be  that  —  is  quite  delighted  with 
Alpheus  Newte.  In  spite  of  this  disgraceful 
robbery  of  the  money  that  poor  dear  old  Granny 
Thomasin  left  mc  —  in  spite  of  his  taking  that 
—  Sir  Archer  talks  of  him  as  a  man  quite  out 
of  the  common  !  He  began  about  him  the 
moment  I  went  in,  and  said  that  he  had  un- 
doubtedly made  a  mistake  in  Mr.  Newte's 
character,  and  that,  though  Johnny  Fortnight 
sprang  from  the  masses  and  was  appallingly 
unctuous  and  apparently  of  the  lowest  possible 
birth,  yet  his  natural  good  sense  and  knowledge 
of  human  nature  entitled  him  to  no  small  amount 
of  credit.  Actually  he  said  these  things  to  me  ! 
Then,  when  I  asked  him  about  my  thousand 
pounds,  he  answered  that  it  was  a  detail  which 
might  probably  be  cleared  up,  and  that,  for  his 
part,  he  should  not  judge  any  man  uncharitably 
until  the  opportunity  has  been  given  him  to 
explain.  Of  course,  if  he  is  to  have  a  chance 
of  explaining,  he'll  do  it  with  the  greatest  ease, 
and  make  a  sermon  of  it,  and  forgive  everybody, 
and  keep  the  money.  In  fact  Sir  Archer  simply 
wouldn't  see  the  real  reason  why  Mr.  Newte  has 


ANOTHER    TREE    PLANTED.  315 

disappeared.  And  he  wouldn't  hear  me  when  I 
said  that  1  knew  a  good  deal  more  about  the  fat 
wretch  than  he  did.  And  he  teels  perfectly  sure 
that  Mr.  Newte  will  be  back  again  in  a  few  days; 
though  in  secret  I  think  grandfather  rather  hopes 
he  won't  come  back  at  all.  After  that  the  real 
truth  burst  upon  me.  Those  papers  I  burned  — 
they  were  nearly  all  copied ;  at  least,  the  im- 
portant legal  ones.  Mr.  Newte  had  the  originals 
all  the  while,  and  now  Sir  Archer  has  them." 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  groaned  Richard.  "  Then  the 
man  can  prove  that  you  are  his  granddaughter 
when   he  pleases  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  was  very  firm  and  short  with 
me  when  I  spoke  about  it.  He  praised  me  for 
burning  the  first ;  but  he  said  that  Providence 
was  on  his  side,  and  that  I  couldn't  make  an- 
other bonfire  of  myself  even  if  I  wished  to. 
He  was  very  different.  I  do  think  he  is  fond 
of  me  ;  but  he  made  it  quite  clear  that  he  was 
in  the  right,  and  meant  me  to  obey  him.  '  Lm 
your  lawful  guardian  henceforth  unril  you  come 
of  age,  Sibella,'  he  said,  'and  1  mean  to  do  my 
duty.'  " 


3i6  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  And  what  does  he  call  his  duty  ? "  asked 
young  Gilbert,  bitterly.  "  To  drag  us  apart,  of 
course,"  he  continued.  "  Yet  you  can  calmly, 
critically,  say  you  think,  the  old  man  is  fond  of 
you." 

"  His  duty  didn't  seem  to  extend  to  you, 
Richard.  After  he  had  talked  a  good  deal  I 
calmly  reminded  him  of  you.  But  I'll  come  to 
that.  First,  he  behaved  like  a  sort  of  school- 
master and  asked  me  what  I  knew,  and  sighed 
to  find  it  was  so  little.  Then  he  said:  '  Sibella, 
mv  child,  vou  have  to  thank  an  eccentric  and 
unkind  parent  for  this  most  unfortunate  state 
of  things.  Here  are  you,  nineteen  years  old, 
or  nearly,  and  you  know  practically  nothing.' 
I  told  him  that  I  could  keep  accounts,  as  he 
would  see  by  the  Compton  Castle  book,  where 
visitors  are  entered  —  and  their  sixpences.  I  told 
him  I  could  cook  and  darn,  and  understood  a 
kitchen  garden,  and  could  sing,  and  could  walk 
fifteen  miles  anv  day  without  being  tired.  He 
said  that  probably  no  accomplishment  lacked  its 
proper  uses,  but  that  I  should  have  no  more 
need   for   any    of  these    gifts,   except   my    voice. 


ANOTHER    TREE    PLANTED.  317 

Then  he  calmly  made  a  most  terrible  proposal, 
Richard.  I  hardlv  thought  I  could  be  hearing 
aright  until   he  repeated  it." 

"  To  pack  you  off  to  learn  rubbish,  of  course." 

"To  send  me  away  to  the  Continent  —  for 
five  years." 

"  Five  years,  Sibella  !  " 

"  Then  I  shall  be  twenty-four.  I  pointed 
that  out;  yet  even  such  a  terrible  thought  did 
not  make  him  change  his  mind.  My  brain  is 
to  be  worked  at  by  professors  of  every  descrip- 
tion. They  are  to  teach  me  to  sing  and  play 
and  talk  foreign  languages  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
And  my  grandfather  is  coming  to  look  after  me." 

"  It's  iniquitous  in  a  free  country  !  The  man 
must  be  made  of  iron.  And  our  banns  to  be 
called  next  Sunday  !  " 

"He  went  on  to  say  that  at  four-and-twenty 
I  might  be  a  girl  worth  marrying.  Yes,  he 
said  that,  Richard ;  and  then  it  was  I  told  him 
again  how  I  had  promised  to  be  your  wife 
before  Heaven,  and  how  I  would  be,  sooner 
or  later,  if  1  lived  through  the  plans  he  had 
arranged   for   me." 


J, 8  rilK    c;()OI)    RED    EARTH. 

"  I  can  very  well  guess  the  answer  he  made 
to  that." 

"  I'm  very,  very  certain  you  can  do  no  such 
thing,  dear  Dick.  He  said:  'Ah,  Mr.  Richard 
Gilbert,  of  the  historic  family  of  Gilbert.  Well, 
I'm  not  a  stone,  Sibella.  We  are  none  of  us 
perfect.  Whether  this  young  man  is  worthy  of 
the  ancestry  he  claims,  we  shall  now  very  soon 
discover.  You  proved  by  your  high-spirited 
conduct  that  you  were  a  Baskerville ;  let  Mr. 
Richard  Gilbert  now  show  himself  a  credit  to 
his  famous  name.  He  must  take  himself  very 
seriously,  I  promise  you,  if  he  aspires  to  my 
Sibella  ;  he  must  hold  his  head  by  many  degrees 
higher  than  formerly.'  " 

"In  fact,  he'd  send  me  to  school  too,  if  he 
could,  perhaps." 

"  I'm  perfectly  certain  he  would,  if  he  could, 
dearest  Richard.  I  never  felt  so  dreadfully 
young  in  my  life  as  I  did  while  he  was  talking 
about  us — especially  you.  'This  boy,' he  said, 
'  must  occupy  the  forthcoming  years  of  his  life 
as  his  own  natural  sense  and  judgment  shall 
prompt  him.'      He  gave  you  that  credit,  Dick." 


ANOTHER   TREE    PLANTED.  319 

"  He  gave  my  mother  that  credit,  you 
mean." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  say  what  was  passing  through 
his  grey,  old  head.  I  only  know  that  he  looked 
at  me  as  if  he  loved  me,  and  he  spoke  of  you 
quite  respectfully.  He  would  hear  no  word 
against  his  plan  ;  indeed,  I  was  too  much  bewil- 
dered and  dazed  to  say  a  word.  '  I'll  give  you 
a  week  to  decide,  and  then  I'll  ask  you  to  come 
and  see  me  again,'  he  said  ;  and  he  added,  not 
knowing  that  your  leg  was  broken,  that  if  I 
was  of  his  mind,  I  might  bring  Mr.  Richard 
Gilbert  with  me.  'If  not,  come  alone,'  he  said. 
And  even  in  that  solemn  moment  I  couldn't  help 
laughing,  in  my  heart,  to  hear  him  keep  on  calling 
you  '  Mr.  Richard  Gilbert.'  It  seemed  as  if  he 
was  a  schoolmaster,  and  ought  to  have  been  talk- 
ing about  'Master'  Richard  Gilbert.  It  was 
rather  horrid  to  feel  so  very  young,  yet  he  made 
me.  I  pictured  us  walking  up  there  together  in 
pinafores  —  me  with  tails  down  mv  back,  and  you 
in  little  knickerbockers.  He  corrected  my  gram- 
mar, as  it  was,  twice;  but  there  were  tears  in  his 
eves  all  the  time;  and  he  kissed  me  when  I  came 


320  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

away  ;  and  the  thing  is,  what's  to  be  done,  dear 
mother,  and  you,  dear  Dick  ?  " 

"  He  wants  to  separate  us,"  burst  out  Richard. 
"  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  1  can  see  that.  He  wants 
to  get  you  off — God  knows  where  —  and  marry 
you  to  somebody  before  I  have  a  chance  of  seeing 
you  again.  I  don't  trust  him.  I  can't  forget  his 
years  and  years  of  unkindness  and  revengefulness 
to  mother.  It's  very  well  to  play  with  our  hearts 
like  this ;  but  it  will  end  in  playing  with  our 
souls.      I'll  withstand  him  to  his  face;   I'll " 

"  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "  link  his  one 
word  with  another,  take  the  gathered  meaning 
of  all,  and  don't  rage  foolishly  at  nought.  'Tis 
Sibella's  fun  that's  made  you  angry  —  not  Basker- 
ville's  sense.  He's  wiser  than  ever  I  thought  him. 
He'll  take  your  breeding  for  granted  if  you'll 
only  show  him  your  nature.  He'll  judge  you 
by  yourself,  as  man  should  judge  man,  and  he 
will  receive  you  as  one  gentleman  should  receive 
another.  He  said  :  '  We  are  none  of  us  perfect.' 
'Tis  the  only  time  on  record  that  ever  he  ad- 
mitted as  much,  A  very  great  sign  of  grace  in 
such  a  stiff-necked  man.      Call  to  mind   the  gen- 


ANOTHER   TREE    PLANTED.  321 

erations  of  his  kindred  that  have  hardened  their 
hearts  and  been  used  to  hold  themselves  of  finer 
clay  than  common  folks.  There  are  centuries  of 
pride  boiled  down  into  that  one  soul.  Yet  this 
dinky  maid  here  wins  from  him  the  spoken  truth 
that  none  of  us  are  perfect." 

"  I  told  him  frankly  that  you  had  got  a  deal 
more  learning  than  me,  Richard ;  and  he  said 
that  was  well.  When  he  hears  you  speak,  he'll 
see  the  man  you  are.  And  the  rest  is  left  just 
between  vou  and  me,  Dick,  You're  not  afraid 
of  five  years?  My  heart  knows  I'm  not!  I'd 
trust  you  for  all   time,  my  own." 

"  It's  a  cruel,  bitter  blow;  and  the  years  must 
be  an  eternity  to  a  man  who  loves  as  I  do  —  living 
death  for  five  long  centuries  rather  than  years." 

"  Not  death,  sweetheart,  lesson-books." 

"I'm  too  old  to  dance  to  scholars'  tunes  now," 
he  said.  "  A  plain  man,  with  no  ambition  to  be 
other  than  I  am,  or  my  father  was." 

"  That's  high  enough  for  any  man  to  range, 
Richard,"  said  his  mother  softly  :  "  keep  your 
father  before  your  eyes ;  copy  him,  and  vou 
may  stand  with  the   highest.      You  arc  at  least  a 


322  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Gilbert,  and,  whether  you  can  trace  kinship  with 
the  niightv  that  lorded  it  here  in  time  past  or 
whether  you  cannot,  'tis  very  certain  that  Gregory 
Gilbert  was  your  father.  Let  Sir  Archer  Basker- 
ville  find  out  what,  by  the  mercy  of  the  Lord, 
he  says  he  is  willing  to  find  out.  Bear  yourself 
like  a  man  before  him  and  before  this  great 
happening;  and  rejoice  that  you  have  a  chance 
you  never  bargained  for,  to  show  the  grit  that's 
in  you.  Sibella,  here,  is  ready  to  face  it.  She's 
strong,  and  goes  to  do  the  will  of  the  Lord  with 
a  faith  that  would  move  mountains  out  of  her 
path  —  av,  and  a  love  that  no  book-learning  will 
lessen.  Be  you  less  great  of  heart  ?  Be  your 
love  less  ?  I  know  better,  my  son,  for  I  know 
your  father  and   I   know  myself." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them.  Sibella's  eyes  were 
brimming,  and  she  held  Dick's  hand  passionately 
clasped  between  her  own  ;  while  he  moved  rest- 
lessly in  his  bed  until  a  sudden  reminder  from 
his  broken   leg  steadied  him. 

"So  be  it,"  he  said  presently.  " 'Tis  vain  to 
think  that  my  father's  son  can  ever  win  respect 
from   Sir  Archer   Baskerville;    but,  win   or  lose, 


ANOTHER   TREE    PLANTED.  323 

God  helping,  I'll  deserve  his  good  word.  Cry 
no  more,  Sib  —  my  Sib  still  —  my  Sib  always. 
Time  is  only  a  pleasant  playmate  so  long  as 
folks  are  young.  I  never  pretended  I  was 
worthy  of  you,  sweet;  still,  come  five  years,  I'll 
try  to  be  better  worthy,  not  less." 

"  The  days  will  roll  away  so  quick,  Richard  — 
and  —  and  I'll  come  back  and  find  you  a  Justice 
of  the  Peace  and  all  manner  of  things." 

"  Five  years  on  your  father's  road,  Richard," 
murmured  his   mother. 

"And  mv  girl  at  the  goal,"   he  said. 

Mary  Gilbert  went  out  and  left  them  then. 
From  force  of  habit  she  passed  into  the  orchard 
and,  walking  with  her  thoughts,  reached  the 
ruined  tree  where  it  lay  not  far  from  a  gate 
that  opened  upon  the  highway.  Severed  from 
its  shattered  stump,  the  fallen  fruit-bearer  awaited 
axe  and  saw.  Lying  against  it,  with  roots  still 
snugly  wrapped  in  straw,  was  the  sprightly  sap- 
ling destined  to  take  its  place.  That  morning 
Tim  Blake  had  "stubbed  out  the  mores"  of  the 
defunct  patriarch,  and  the  abode  of  the  young 
new-comer  was   prepared   for  it. 


324  THE   GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

A  robin's  song  filled  the  silence,  and  breath 
of  autumn  crept  in  opal  hazes  among  the  grey 
tree-trunks.  Then  there  came  rolling  of  wheels, 
and  the  chocolate  and  yellow  cliariot  of  Sir 
Archer  Baskerville  passed  the  orchard  gate. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  did  not  turn,  nor  had  the  occu- 
pant of  the  carriage  seen  her  in  the  dusk,  but 
a  footman  upon  the  box  observed  Mary  Gil- 
bert, bid  the  coachman  stop,  and,  dismounting, 
explained  to  his  master  that  she  whom  he 
sought  was  hard  by  among  the  fruit-trees.  Well 
pleased  to  learn  the  fact,  Sir  Archer  alighted, 
bid  his  coachman  drive  to  the  end  of  the  lane, 
entered  the  orchard  and  approached  the  woman 
standing  there.  He  uncovered  his  head  as  he 
reached  her  side. 

"  Mary  Gilbert,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  to 
know  whether  it  may  be  peace  between  us  at 
the  last,  or  whether  it  is  too  late  ?  " 

He  half  offered  his  hand,  and  she  took  it 
and  held   it  a  moment. 

"  Man  !  man  !  "  she  answered^,  "  do  you  need 
to  ask  me  ?  Do  women  like  me  make  war  on 
those  that  loved  them  ?  I  have  praved  for 
this  through   many   years." 


ANOTHER   TREE    PLANTED.  325 

"It  is  peace.  You  forgive  me?  No  need 
to  ask  that  either.  May  the  Lord  God  be  as 
generous  to  me  as  you  have  been,  for  my  record 
is  evil.  But  I  will  atone  as  I  can.  The  past 
is  past,  and  past  praying  for.  The  future  — 
they  shall  be  man  and  wife  if  they  keep  in  that 
mind.      I   only  ask  for  time." 

"  And  I  have  said  to  them  that  you  were 
very  wise  to  ask  it.  I  upheld  you  with  all  my 
might.  Both  will  face  life  the  stronger  and 
wiser  for  that  waiting." 

"  But  should  I  pass  away  before  the  time, 
may  I  ask  you  to  carry  out  my  wishes  ?  "  he 
said. 

" 'Tis  done,"  she  answered.  "The  boy  and 
girl  both  stand  with  faces  to  their  duty.  They 
desire  to  justify  themselves  in  your  eyes  and 
in  the  sight  of  all,  and  show  what  manner  of 
man   and  woman  they   be." 

"  And   vou   have  forgiven   my  wickedness  ^  " 

"  These  forty  years." 

He  bowed  again. 

"Your  sad  and  penitent  friend  henceforth." 
he  said. 


326  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

Once  more  she  extended  her  hand  to  him,  and 
he  took  it  between  his  own  and  bent  slightly- 
over  it.  Then  he  walked  slowly  away,  and  the 
orchard  gate  fell  too  noisily  behind  him.  His 
carriage  drove  up  to  him,  and  he  entered  it 
and  was  gone. 

To  the  woman  mists  hiding  memory  arose 
and  dislimned,  as  clouds  ascend  and  vanish 
above  some  summer  river  at  dawn  ;  and  clear 
beneath  them  shone  forth  —  no  picture  of  this 
man  under  his  burden  of  threescore  years  and 
ten,  but  the  passionate  youth  he  had  been,  and 
the  frantic  figure  of  him  as  last  he  swept  away 
from   her,   near  half  a  century  ago. 

Now  there  had  come  peace  between  them, 
and  from  her  soul  rose  a  high  song  of  thank- 
fulness for  ancient  prayers  answered  at  last. 

"Joy  in  my  heart,"  she  thought,  "and  joy  in 
my  deac  man's  spirit  too  ;  for,  looking  down  on 
me,  and  ever  longing  for  me  to  come  back  to 
him,  'tis  certain  this  glad  news  will  bring  balm 
to  him  also,  and  make  the  place  of  waiting 
brighter." 

A  figure  moved  through  the  gloaming  among 


ANOTHER    TREE    PLANTED.  327 

the  trees,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  knew  it  for  Tim 
Blake,  and  called  the   labourer  to   her. 

"  Come  you  here,  Timothy,"  she  said,  "  and 
cut  these  bands  away  and  plant  this  tree  in  the 
place  prepared  for  it." 

"  Me,  mum  !  I  thought  'twas  to  wait  till  the 
weddin'  day,  and  be  set  up  by  Maister  Dick's 
missus." 

"  No,  'twill  not  stand  for  that,"  she  said  ;  and, 
after  a  moment  of  silence,  continued:  "You  are 
one  that  does  God's  pleasure,  Timothy,  for  your 
eye  is  single  and  you  live  without  angering  any 
man.  The  trees  know  your  planting ;  and  none, 
save  only  my  husband,  ever  had  a  more  tender 
hand  with  young  roots  than   have  you." 

"  'Tis  a  great  deed  to  put  up  a  generous, 
fruit-bearing  tree,  mum ;  and  I  hope  as  them 
what  eat  and  drink  of  the  apples  long  after  I 
be  dust  will  spare  a  thought  to  me  here  an' 
theer.  Be  thicky  sapling  to  stand  for  any  high 
purpose,  if  a  man  may  ax  ?  Many  a  brave 
bearer  in   this  orchard  do,  as  be  well   knawn." 

"  It  will  stand  for  the  patience  and  long- 
suffering   of   Heaven,"   answered    Mary    (iilbcrr. 


328  THE    GOOD    RED    EARTH. 

"  It  will    stand    for   a  frozen  soul  that  has  been 
thawed  on  a  sudden  by  the  touch  of  God's  own 

finger.      It  will  stand  for  a  wonder  of  Nature 

a  man,  proud  as  Lucifer  from  the  womb,  who 
has  asked  his  fellow-creature  to  forgive  him  now 

that  he   be   old.     And   my  heart  is  very   fill 

full  to  bursting  — a  thing  I'd  never  whisper  to 
none  but  you,  Timothy.  Dig  here  ;  plant  lov- 
ing-like;  and  God  A'mighty  make  airth  sweet 
to  the  young  root  and  sun  kind  to  the  flower- 
buds  that  wait  for  Spring." 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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